The Awakening
by CRMediaGal
Summary: After miraculously surviving Nagini's attack upon his life, a reluctant Severus Snape finds himself entrusting the help of a certain know-it-all to reclaim his life. AU, Post-Hogwarts.
1. A Man Forgotten

**A/N: Hello, everyone! I finally have a brand spankin' new story to share with you! :) **

**I've had this fanfic gathering dust on my computer for _ages_, mainly because I'd been unsatisfied with it for quite a long time. It was mainly the execution during those very, very early writing drafts that gave me fits and plagued me with self-doubts about ever posting it. Thus, I've hesitated until now. Having heavily edited _The Awakening_ numerous times, however, I now feel that this piece is about as satisfactory as I could make it. It's ten chapters in length, so considerably shorter than anything else I've written.  
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**If you're a familiar reader, you're already awesome and I thank you for checking out this new story! If you're new to my work, my writing has mainly been devoted to the_ Unquestionable Love_ series, a.k.a. my SSHG baby, for the past year and a half. Feel free to check it out! It's_ always_ lovely and encouraging to hear from new readers. :) **

_**Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny! Of course, I've had to change things since she looked everything over, so any remaining errors are mine and will get corrected as time permits. Original accompanying artwork to this story should be credited to the wonderfully talented Elly.  
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**********Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and ****own none of her associated characters. **

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_**The Awakening**_

**By CRMediaGal**

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**Chapter 1: A Man Forgotten**

_**"I want to remember our fallen heroes. And after I've spent a day remembering them, I want to extend my arm and help them up."**_  
**-Jarod Kintz**

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"How are we feeling this morning, Mrs. Grifford?"

"Fine 'n dandy!" the elderly woman replied with brutal sarcasm.

Mrs. Gifford's beady, gray eyes narrowed testily at the upbeat, young Healer-in-training who had entered her room, carrying the woman's chart in hand and wearing a most unwarranted smile. Easily put off, Mrs. Grifford crossed her arms defiantly, her rancid attitude unaffected by the younger witch's amiable greeting.

"You're unnaturally chipper today, Miss...?"

"Granger, Ma'am," the Healer-in-training answered, as she set to examining her uncooperative patient. "Are your chest and throat still scratchy?"

"Yes," Mrs. Grifford grumbled, turning her head to glance out the window at the bustling London streets beyond. _So many people bustling about._ What was their hurry? She would have liked to know. It beat whatever this perky trainee had to say.

"Looks like your swelling has subsided, so that's good news."

"_Is it?_" Mrs. Grifford snapped her head towards Healer-in-training Granger, gifting her with an irritated hiss.

"Of course, Mrs. Grifford. We don't want you unable to walk now, do we?"

Mrs. Grifford shifted in her bed, keeping her arms firmly laced across her chest. "It would be just as well," she tried to mumble under her breath, but her remark was met by a curious eyebrow lift.

"Mrs. Grifford, don't say things like that. We want you to get well."

"HA!" the old witch snorted, peering up at Healer-in-training Granger with a challenging glare. "Says who? _You?_"

"Yes, and your husband—"

"My halfwit of a husband is the one who put me here in the first place! The daft idiot!"

Healer-in-training Granger folded her hands together, treading the situation carefully. "Mrs. Grifford, these accidents _do_ happen—"

"_Oh?_"

"Yes, more frequently than you might imagine. It sounds like an honest mistake." She added softly, "I'm sure Mr. Grifford feels terrible about what happened."

"As well he should!" she practically snarled between clenched, crooked teeth. "No wonder he hasn't shown his face in over a day! Just wait 'till I get out of here!"

"Mrs. Grifford," Healer-in-training Granger began apprehensively, "is your husband prone to bouts of forgetfulness when working with magical creatures?"

Mrs. Grifford gave her a suspicious look over. "Yes..."

"And when he isn't working?"

"On occasion..." She paused. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I couldn't help but notice while he was here visiting you that he is rather...distracted." She halted, hoping she hadn't offended the already foul-tempered woman enough to set her off on another tangent. When Mrs. Grifford said nothing, only stared up at her with a rather vacant expression, she pressed on, "What other things does he tend to forget?"

"Well... Lots of... Just the minor things here and there."

"Such as?"

Mrs. Grifford grunted. "Where he stores things, for starters. He'll put his wand in his pocket and forget it's there and search the entire bloody house for it. Drives me batty! I knew he shouldn't have been working with those dreadful Buthiadae scorpions! Bought them off some dodgy chap in The Leaky Cauldron, he did."

"What was he planning to do with them?" Healer-in-training Granger questioned, grateful she had found a lead into getting some answers.

"Ask Nigel! Merlin knows! He was determined to get the blasted venom without actually harming the buggers, so what does he do? He takes one out, forgetting that he left the damned cage ajar, and four others go scot-free! The scorpion he had in his grasp slipped right out of his fingers and just as I come into the room to see what all the fuss is about, one of them decides to sting _me!_ And then two more!

"And Nigel just gets irate and glowers about how he can't use the venom now for any of his bloody research, whilst I'm screaming in pain! The git!" Healer-in-training Granger flinched, though it went unnoticed in the heat of Mrs. Grifford's tirade. "I knew he never should've bought those beasts. _I knew it!_"

"Mrs. Grifford—"

"What?"

"Does Mr. Grifford tend to get frustrated when he's forgetful?"

"He's _always_ testy! Why?"

"Well," Healer-in-training Granger stepped forward, bracing herself, "it might be worth having Mr. Grifford come in...for some tests..."

"Tests?" Mrs. Grifford repeated, her pupils dilating with skepticism.

"Yes... It sounds like, and it did whilst he was here visiting you, your husband may be experiencing some level of amnesiac episodes."

"Oh..." Mrs. Grifford went quiet on that score, her angry face falling.

"People tend to become irrational and irritate when forgetful. He couldn't seem to remember much of what happened when I questioned him myself.

"It's very treatable, Mrs. Grifford. Our Potion-makers are excellent and top of the line. They can have him back to feeling like his normal self again in no time, but I'm worried about you both. He shouldn't be handling dangerous creatures like those scorpions if he can't remember _how_ to handle them. It's life-threatening to him_ and_ to you."

"You think I don't know that already, Missy?" Mrs. Grifford pointed to her left ankle, which was swollen to at least twice its normal size and wrapped in bandages. "That's what I was bloody well telling you!"

Healer-in-training Granger kept her patience intact and urged quietly, "Would you mind if I called on Mr. Grifford to come in at his earliest convenience?"

"Yes, yes, fine!" Mrs. Grifford sighed crabbily. "I was going to call on him myself if he didn't have the moxie to show up this morning!"

"I'll get on it, Mrs. Grifford," the witch tried to reassure her, taking possession of the patient's hovering chart in her hands. "You just try to relax. I'll be back later."

The elderly woman continued to sputter under her breath as Healer-in-training Granger took her leave, strolling out into a dingy-looking ward that felt almost oppressively dark and secluded. The quietude, however, was exactly as the young witch wished and preferred. It was one of the quietest wards in all of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and she would readily take it over the bustling, relentlessly fast-paced environment that plagued many of the other departments. Not that she wasn't plenty busy as it was.

Turning on her heel towards the Healer's station at the far end of the hallway, Healer-in-training Granger was consumed by thoughts about her latest patient when a genial female voice broke through her silent reveries. "Morning, Hermione!" another Healer-in-training greeted her with a bright smile. Like Hermione Granger, she, too, was young, with short, dark auburn hair and a fresh, pretty-looking face dotted with freckles.

"Morning, Gwendle."

"You're early today, aren't you?"

"Thinking of Mr. Grifford kept me up all night. I figured I should get in here to confront Mrs. Grifford about her husband, the sooner the better."

"That bad is it?"

"He could barely remember his own name when he was here, Gwendle..."

"Oh! That _is_ bad."

"Quite." Hermione let out a weary sigh and levitated the woman's chart towards a host of others that were magically barred and alphabetized behind the station where Gwendle stood, hunched over and scribbling notes into her binder. "Any sign of Healer Smethwyck yet?" Hermione inquired as she observed her peer's furious note-taking. It reminded her much of herself, though Gwendle's binder wasn't as crammed with nearly as many notes as her entries always were.

Gwendle shook her head with a frown, unaware of Hermione's observation. "Of course not. Probably had one too many pints of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey and is half in the bag this morning."

Hermione rubbed at her eyes. "Don't remind me..."

"Healer Pye just arrived, though. He's checking on Severus Snape."

"Oh?" Mention of her former Potions professor perked Hermione's interest considerably, though Gwendle seemed oblivious to the fresh alertness of her peer. "Why's that? I was going to head in there next."

Gwendle shrugged, nonchalant. "Don't know. Perhaps he wanted to do another diagnostic check of his own."

"I see..."

Gwendle paused, peering up from her notes with a slight shake of her head. "Nothing's changed."

"I didn't expect that it would."

"Yes, well, you know Augustus. Eternally optimistic."

Hermione couldn't stop herself from frowning. "Aren't we_ supposed_ to be optimistic regarding the outcomes of our patients?"

"Yes, well, Severus Snape's been in a coma for eighteen months now."

"That doesn't mean..." Hermione's voice trailed off.

"What?" Gwendle stopped writing altogether and gazed at Hermione as if her curly head had rolled right off her shoulders. "You think he might _actually_ still wake up?"

"There's always the chance," she insisted, albeit very softly.

Gwendle resumed her rapid note-taking. "I highly doubt it, Hermione. That snake did a real number on him. Pity he wasn't awake to see all the accolades bestowed in his honor."

"Yes... Pity..."

"A little late, don't you think?"

"Yes..."

The remembrance of the wizard's unfortunate reality did a number on Hermione's insides, which started churning and wrestling unpleasantly where she stood, half leaning against the desk top for balance. She hadn't had breakfast that morning, but lack of food had very little to do with how she currently felt. It seemed that Hermione would never be able to get over her sense of guilt and responsibility regarding the professor's current circumstances.

_Poor man, indeed._

It had taken Hermione nearly six months after the end of the war to come to terms with the magnitude of what Severus Snape had done for their cause. For many, the realization was only now settling in. The highly mistrusted Potions-Master-turned-Headmaster-turned-most-despi sed-wizard-amongst-the-Order had, in fact, been on their side all along.

At least that revelation had confirmed all of Hermione's secret suspicions that she had mostly kept to herself during her final year, which had been spent on the run rather than in class. As such, learning of the prickly, reclusive wizard's good deeds had taken on a more personal note for Hermione than it had for most. Many in and outside of the Order were content to simply forget about Severus Snape and his innumerable contributions. He was still the traitor and still the man who had killed the head of the Order, one of Hogwarts' greatest Headmasters, Albus Dumbledore.

"Just as well that he's not awake to see all this aftermath, you know what I mean?" Gwendle's grim remark broke through again, catching Hermione's attention, even as she reflected on how ill the treatment of the dark wizard's efforts had ultimately played out.

_"Perhaps now the poor man can be at peace," many concluded with little disagreement._

_"Many still hate him, you know. He wasn't at all friendly or well-liked; serves him right, when you think about it."_

_"He didn't have any supporters then. What makes you think he wants anything to do with any of us now?"_

_"Better that we honor him this way, seeing as he'll likely never wake up."_

_Yeah, better we honor him quickly and quietly so that we can go about our lives and forget about him!_ Hermione had wanted to shout at them all but instead bitterly gnashed her teeth. It was right around the time she was taking her N.E.W.T.S that plans to honor the man started being tossed around. To her, it wasn't so easy to forget all that the misunderstood wizard had sacrificed on hers and her friends' behalf. He had kept her, Ron, and Harry safe on more than a handful of occasions during their countless foolish adventures. Ron and Harry weren't as keen on admitting to self-reproach, but Hermione was positive that the two boys, now men, were feeling equally guilt-ridden—Harry, perhaps, more so—about the unnecessary turmoil and strain they had put the poor man through, all the while accusing him of being their sworn enemy.

Hermione would never forget that eerie night in the Shrieking Shack that had led to Severus Snape's current state of unconsciousness. It was the eve of battle when she had watched the horrifying assault upon her former professor unfold before her very eyes, and she had been glued to the scene as if she were watching Harry battle out one of the massive dragons during the Triwizard Tournament. Unlike in her fourth year, however, Hermione had risked nothing and done nothing to aid the professor as he lay dying, and that weighed heavily on her heart, particularly during the lonely nights when she was completely at wits end with her tortured thoughts, wrestling with her overwhelming sense of guilt. It had been most plaguing whilst finishing out her seventh and final year at Hogwarts and had never really left her since.

As the rest of the world seemed to get on, Severus Snape remained comatose, and Hermione Granger struggled with the responsibility of his current state, and that perhaps her lack of aid had put him where he was now. _I could have... I should have..._ Hermione often turned over in her mind, though she normally ended up quietly crying herself to sleep. _Face it, Hermione. You watched him die and did nothing. Absolutely nothing._

Hermione dreamed of that night often, crouched and hidden away from view, watching the dreary-eyed, hooked-nosed man take what appeared to be his very last breath. She witnessed the sorrow and dejection in his forsaken eyes that had been long hidden away, as he clutched his hand to his gouged throat, where his own blood trickled over his cravat and heaving chest, staining the stark material and filling their nostrils with its potent perfume. He desperately grasped Harry with the other.

That disturbing image had repeated itself many times over in the year and a half that passed. Would she ever have the opportunity to ask for forgiveness? Was it too late to make things right?

_Of course it is, Hermione._

"You all right, Hermione?"

A concerned-looking Gwendle was eying her with raised eyebrows. "Sorry," Hermione stuttered, "I'm fine. I should go check on the professor."

"Pye has his chart if you need it."

"Right. Thanks."

Hermione walked directly across to her right, where Severus Snape had been stationed ever since his unconscious arrival. There was valid reasoning for keeping the wizard closest to the Healers' station, which Hermione was made privy to when she first started her training some four months earlier in the Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites.

_"So that no one may easily trespass us to get to him," Healer Pye had explained. "We've placed more protective wards around his room as an extra precautionary measure. They're hardly necessary anymore, but the occasional threatening letter against his life still makes its way here from time to time."_

_Such utter nonsense!_ Hermione fumed at the time, pressing her mouth shut lest she spew remarks that bordered on unprofessional.

Hermione quietly knocked on the door before entering the small, darkened room, where everything in sight appeared to be as it should. A scarce amount of furniture—a sofa chair in the corner and a nightstand next to an occupied bed—filled the otherwise empty space. There were no windows and no natural light seeping through, putting the place mostly in shadow.

Healer Augustus Pye, an obliging gentleman in his early to mid-thirties with dark blonde locks and an approachable demeanor, greeted her upon entering. An easy favorite amongst her coworkers, he and Hermione had gotten on extremely well since her apprenticeship began, much more so than she had with the second Healer-in-charge, Hippocrates Smethwyck, who was generally nowhere to be found.

"Good morning, Hermione."

"Morning, Sir." Hermione casually strolled over to where the Healer stood, running a series of diagnostic tests on an immobile patient with the sheets drawn up to his neck, all but his face obstructed from view. "Just running a few tests on Master Snape's condition. I know that's normally your duties, but I was curious to see how his brain activity is responding to our latest Awakening Draught. It's been a while since I've taken a look myself."

"I understand, Sir."

"So far, not much luck."

"No, I'm afraid not."

Hermione took a moment to thoughtfully regard the patient sleeping peacefully before her eyes. Severus Snape looked every bit the wizard she remembered from her school days, if not slightly less intimidating at rest. His striking ebony, untidy hair that fell shoulder-length and normally hung like curtains around his face was swept back against his pillow. She had taken the liberty of cutting it when she arrived, shocked to find it had grown nearly to his waist. The once yellow-colored skin that always made him appear sickly and unnatural, and of which had led to countless snickering comparisons to that of a vampire, was now a much healthier shade of white. His nose, however, another trademark of never-ending ridicule, was as prominent as ever.

It was only upon much closer inspection—something Hermione never would have chanced or been allowed to do prior to her apprenticeship—that one realized how elegantly long the man's eyelashes were, or how his hair actually felt to the touch—not greasy but surprisingly soft. His eyelashes alone would be the envy of women the world over, Hermione mused to herself on more than one occasion; but no one paid attention to these details, of course. Well, no one save for her.

It was during her daily visits to the man's bedside—running her diagnostic tests, checking for any signs of instability or fluctuations to his condition—that Hermione formed a different opinion of the professor's appearance. Not that she ever thought he was an ugly brute like so many had. His nasty attitude simply hadn't done him any favors when it came to the rest of his rather harsh-looking appearance; if anything, it only heightened his unapproachability, making him an unpleasing sight in the process.

_You didn't do yourself any favors by acting the part, you know._

Severus Snape wasn't handsome, no, but there was something unorthodox and strangely enticing about him that Hermione had grown conscious of in recent months. _Perhaps because he's asleep and not running his mouth on you like he normally would be_, she reminded herself when such disconcerting thoughts occurred. Hermione certainly wasn't supposed to think of the professor, now her patient, in _that_ light, regardless of what he had done.

"I'm grateful you volunteered," Healer Pye suddenly disrupted her contemplations, bringing Hermione abruptly back to the present.

"I'm sorry?"

"For volunteering to oversee his case," Healer Pye explained as he shoved his wand into his lime green robes. "His condition is not only a rarity and, therefore, a great challenge to undertake, but I can't see many wanting to so willingly put themselves in the position of working with him. It's appreciated, Hermione, I can assure you."

"Oh, well, it's no trouble, really. In some ways, I... I feel like I owe it to him."

Healer Pye offered a somber nod of understanding. Hermione didn't talk much about what happened that night in the Shrieking Shack, but people were already privy to most of the details; whether they were factual or gossip was another matter.

"I'm sure the professor would disagree with you on that score, Hermione," Healer Pye teased with a small smile that she matched.

"I'm not so sure..."

"Oh, believe me, I can remember him well. He wouldn't want any of our sympathies."

Hermione blinked. "I often forget you attended Hogwarts yourself." It wasn't something they routinely discussed, though she was hardly surprised at learning where the Healer ended up.

"Having Master Snape as my Potions professor was quite the challenge. But then, us Ravenclaws didn't have it as bad as you Gryffindors." His handsome smile widened. "You know, even if it wasn't public knowledge, I could tell right from the off that you're a Gryffindor."

"Oh?" Hermione's grin broadened as well; it was probably the most informal conversation she and the Healer had ever shared. "How can you tell?"

"You have that Gryffindor nobility about you, which makes you an excellent choice for a Healer, I might add. There's that sense of selfless duty and unfailing responsibility about your lot. Not that we Ravenclaws don't possess noble traits too, mind you—"

"Of course," Hermione giggled.

"Yes, well, I believe only someone like_ you_ would be willing to take on Master Snape's case. It takes someone with emotional depth; someone with the ability to look beyond face value."

Hermione found herself pausing on the Healer's words, understatedly profound as they were. "Well, he _was_ terribly misunderstood by everyone, including me."

"By us _all_, I'd wager."

"Yes..." Hermione found herself peering down at the slumbering wizard with a dismayed frown. "I do wish he would wake up."

"His brain is still highly active. Whatever damage the venom did to the rest of his body, his mind has been unaffected. He's quite fortunate."

Hermione's brow furrowed with puzzlement. "If only we knew _why_ he won't wake."

"Well, his body finally started responding to some of our treatments, so that's a good sign. Strangely enough," Healer Pye began roaming through Snape's chart, "I was looking over your notes here, and I'm gathering a pattern."

"A pattern?" Hermione repeated with heightened interest.

"Mmm, yes, it seems that his condition only started improving after you took over his care. You aren't doing anything necessarily different that I or the Mediwitches weren't already doing, so I must ask you, Hermione: is there anything_ not_ in your notes here that might explain why his body would suddenly react to treatment?"

Hermione was taken aback by this discovery. For one, how could she have missed such a pattern herself? She was overseeing the man's care, after all, and had spent a great deal of time looking after him. She had noted the slight improvements to his overall health, only she had accounted such changes to the healing treatments she had been instituting, the same of which others such as Healer Pye had tried on Snape already.

Hermione stared down at the unresponsive face of the professor questioningly. "I'm not sure," she confessed, feeling discouraged. "I - I _do_ talk to him when I'm in here," she added, feeling suddenly foolish and going red in the face. "I suppose just to let the professor know that he isn't alone, that someone is here with him..."

Sensing her embarrassment, Healer Pye shot her a reassuring, kindhearted smile. "Human contact can work wonders on patients' conditions, Hermione. That makes more sense to me now. Do you touch him at all?"

Hermione was rattled at first by the question before quickly coming to the understanding that it was a harmless one. For whatever reason, however, her cheeks still burned, either with humiliation or...something else that she couldn't put her finger on.

"Sometimes I'll touch his shoulder or his arm or... Or hold his hand."

"I see."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I honestly mean no harm by it. It's just that, well, he's had no visitors and doesn't receive much of any interaction in here and I thought that maybe—"

"Hermione, you have nothing to apologize for." Healer Pye passed Snape's chart to her from across the bed. "It makes perfect sense that Master Snape would respond so positively to human contact after being without it for most of his stay. I daresay by doing so you've made all the difference in his outcome. It's steadily improving things."

Hermione wasn't aware that her heart was now beating much faster against her chest than before. "You think... You think he might actually wake up?"

"There's never certainty, only possibility." Healer Pye gazed down at Severus Snape momentarily. "But yes, I'd like to believe he may wake up one of these days."

Hermione shuffled her feet, her hand lightly brushing against the side of Snape's bed. "Should I..."

"Yes, Hermione," Healer Pye insisted, "by all means, continue to reach out to him, and be sure to document anything you find in his chart."

"Thank you, Sir. I will."

"Have you checked on Mrs. Grifford? Gwendle said you popped in earlier than usual this morning."

"Yes, I have. Her swelling has come down, but I think Mr. Grifford needs to come in for tests. I know I expressed to you my concerns before, and she validated a few of them for me today."

"I'll have one of the Mediwitches send out an owl."

"Oh!" Hermione started to step back towards the door. "There's no need, Sir. I'll get on it—"

"It's fine, Hermione," Healer Pye insisted with a soft chuckle. "Master Snape's treatment takes precedence. Allow the Mediwitches. They're here to assist us for a reason."

Hermione didn't like being rendered to doing less than what she thought was fair but quietly consented. "Well, thank you, Sir, but it's really no problem."

"I'm sure it isn't, but you do enough around here as it is, including most of Healer Smethwyck's work load." Healer Pye gave her a friendly nod and headed for the door. "Don't think I haven't noticed. I'll leave you to it."

Once the door was closed and a familiar silence settled upon the room, Hermione quickly busied herself with setting up Snape's treatment on the empty nightstand next to his bed. _Is this partly why you talk to him so much, Hermione?_ she berated herself internally as she extracted her wand and levitated several phials and ointments onto a steel tray. _Because you're lonely and can't take the silence and have no one else to converse with these days?_

That was a truth she couldn't deny herself. Hermione didn't, in fact, have anyone to talk to nowadays and rarely ventured anywhere other than home after finishing her grueling rounds at the hospital. Excusing the occasional after-work pint with Gwendle, someone she still hadn't established much of a connection with, Hermione hadn't seen her best mates, Harry and Ron, in ages.

Harry was understandably as busy as she was most of the time, working as an Auror under Kingsley Shacklebolt's new Ministry of Magic, where they were heavily involved in hunting down criminals involved in the First and Second Wizarding Wars. Ron had gone into the joke shop business with his brother, George, at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes after finding the Auror program "too demanding," though George's more subdued nature after the death of his twin brother left Ron with most of the work load anyhow. The efforts involved in running the shop were admittedly more time consuming than the ginger preferred, a gripe Hermione couldn't will herself to ignore and turn the other cheek at; not when she barely managed a weekend off nowadays.

Hermione had never approved of Ron's less than stellar work ethic, so she was hardly surprised that he found himself not much happier in the family business than he had been working for the Ministry. It was one of many triggers for rowing with one another, more so in the last six months of their relationship than they ever had whilst at school. In the process, their incessant bickering had led them both to the grave realization that they were far better suited as friends than lovers.

Once they finally decided to part ways—amicably—only some two months ago and informed the rest of the Weasley family, it was the matriarch of the redheaded clan who voiced the most displeasure over what many others had seen coming for ages. Hermione found herself overwrought by Molly Weasley's unexpected, heavy-handed scorn. After hearing several repeated accusations of "choosing a career over my dear boy," Hermione was practically fuming out of the ears. It had taken every ounce of restraint she possessed not to shoot down the witch who had been the equivalent to a second mother to her.

To be cast out of the Weasley family was more emotionally trying than any face off Hermione had ever encountered with Death Eaters, and it was exactly _that_ which Molly proposed when news of their breakup came around. Ron had tried to stand up for his former girlfriend and lost the battle. Mrs. Weasley gave the "headstrong" Hermione a piece of her mind, and all Hermione could do was swallow it painfully and silently like an obedient child.

By the end, Hermione had had the sails knocked out of her and would have welcomingly crumbled to the floor in a ball sobbing if she hadn't felt so utterly blindsided by Mrs. Weasley's wrath. She shook from head to toe hours after the traumatic event was through, stunned at how quickly she had been cast out.

_"Mum, we're just not suited for each other! We both agree on that! It's over!"_

_"Oh, don't give me that, Ronald Weasley! I've seen the way you two look at each other! After everything you've been through—"_

_"Mrs. Weasley," Hermione tried politely to interject, "with all due respect—"_

_"Don't you 'with all due respect' me, Missy! I brought you into this family! Why, when your parents weren't around, and with all the hols you spent cooped up in our house, eating our food and sleeping in our beds, I practically raised you like a second daughter!"_

_"Mum, enough!_ I _brought 'Mione into this family, don't forget that!"_

_"It doesn't change the fact that_ I_ took her in and fed her and provided her with a place to stay!" Mrs. Weasley barked back, her eyes radiating with fury and emotional injury, as if the breakup were her own and not her son's._

_"I... I don't mean any disrespect to you, Mrs. Weasley. Not at all. I'm very grateful for all that you've done for me."_

_"And_ this _is how you repay my generosity, Hermione?"_

_"Mum!" Ron stomped his foot and tried to insert his whole body in between the two witches. "This is none of your business! 'Mione hasn't done anything—"_

_"Except string you along for the past two and a half years!" Mrs. Weasley pointed a shaking finger at her son. "Oh, yes, Ronald, don't think I haven't seen how deeply hurt you were when Hermione approached you about calling it quits the first time!"_

_"That was different, Mum!"_

_"Don't give me that codswallop either!"_

_"Mrs. Weasley," Hermione tried again, most timidly, but found herself interrupted again._

_"I'm so disappointed in you, Hermione! To think of all the promise we had in making you a permanent fixture of this family—"_

_"MUM!"_

_"And then you go and dismiss my Roniekinns like he's nothing more than one of your tattered books you wish to discard!"_

_Hermione was horrified. "Mrs. Weasley, that's not true!"_

_"Oh, I believe it is!" she snapped, sending a startled Hermione back a step. "I want you out of this house! You've hurt my boy enough—"_

_"MUM, SHUT IT!"_

_"—And don't you dare interrupt me again, Ronald Weasley, or you'll have those lips of yours permanently casted shut!"_

_"I... I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley. I truly am. I - I never meant to hurt anyone..."_

Hermione's absorbed mind trickled out of the painful memory and back to the present, though not without the emotional scars that momentarily surfaced on her suffering face. Hermione swallowed her heartache and hastily re-shifted her attention to the tasks at hand. Wherever Ron was now, they hadn't spoken since that evening that Hermione left the Burrow, suppressing her tears down the long, dirt path to the Apparation point before she broke down and lost all composure. Ron had stayed behind to try to calm Molly down, but still Hermione hadn't heard from him since, which led her to assume, at this juncture, that perhaps Ron had sided with his mother after all. She still ran into George and Percy on occasion and saw Ginny regularly, but Ron had gone surprisingly mute and unavailable, all but vanishing entirely from her life.

_That_ hurt most of all.

_Focus, Hermione, for goodness' sake!_ her conscience screamed after it dawned on the witch that she had reset the contents of Snape's tray a fourth time.

"All right, Sir," Hermione spoke aloud, as if conversing with a comatose professor was commonplace, "I have your scar ointment here. Let's start with that."

Hermione levitated the tray into the air and removed the lid off of a small canister, placing it onto her lap. "This is the same ointment we've used the past two weeks," she explained whilst pulling back several layers of blankets to reveal the man's violent snake bites that were slashed across his neck, leaving deep gashes where new skin had grown over, though much darker and noticeable than the rest.

Hermione began gently massaging the area with her fingertips, using the special ointment to treat the wizard's deeply-embedded wounds. Hermione suspected they would probably never fully disappear.

The Dittany the professor had initially attempted to administer on his own proved to be of little benefit in the end. Either Snape hadn't been able to withstand the burning pressure to his skin and stopped or simply went unconscious and couldn't finish. Either way, he had had only himself to rely upon that night, which did nothing for Hermione's tortured sense of responsibility.

The scars were slightly less prominent than they had been when Hermione first took over Snape's treatment. However, she was still thoroughly surprised that various treatments before her arrival hadn't worked—elixirs, balms, even Muggle medicines like Savlon cream, one that Muggle-enthusiast Healer Pye himself had been particularly keen on. All of them ultimately failed.

Hermione surveyed the area, not at all fazed anymore by being so close to the surly professor. She wasn't even uncomfortable touching him, seeing as this was the nature of her job, and the man was unconscious. Yes, he had at one time been fiercely intimidating, but now he was in a coma, helpless and at the mercy of others. _Of her._

_The least you can do is help him. After all, you watched him die, Hermione... And did nothing._

"Your scars are still quite dark, Sir, but this ointment seems to be helping."

Was she saying that to ease her own discomfort and guilt? Hermione shook her head, a few soft curls falling around her large, hopeful eyes.

"I know I say it far too often, Professor," she whispered with restraint, "and if you were awake now, you'd probably curse me out for still apologizing over the matter, but I... I'm so sorry. I'm so terribly sorry that I didn't help you. I was frightened and... And we didn't know you were on our side and... And I was so shocked when Nagini attacked you that I... I didn't react fast enough.

"I'm truly sorry, Professor. So utterly sorry. I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me..."

* * *

**A/N #2: Here we go! First impressions?! PLEASE hit that review button! I'd love to hear from you!  
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	2. Curiously Aware

**A/N: WOW! _Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, and favs!_ Your interest and feedback is so encouraging, let me tell you_, _so, as a thank you, I'm chap spamming you with Chapter 2. ;) Please keep it up! I very much enjoy hearing from you guys.  
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**(I likely won't be able to update tomorrow, but hopefully on Sunday you'll get the next installment.)  
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**__****Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny!  
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**********Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and ****own none of her associated characters. **

* * *

**Chapter 2: Curiously Aware**

_**"As you get older, it is harder to have heroes, but it is sort of necessary."**_  
**-Ernest Hemingway**

* * *

"Let's check your vital signs, Professor."

A pounding rain beat against the outer walls, disrupting the otherwise quietude of Snape's room, but Hermione wasn't bothered by the sound of her own voice. She was accustomed to speaking out loud to silence and had even perched herself on the edge of the wizard's bedside, something she had inadvertently started ages ago. She knew if the notorious Severus Snape were awake, however, there would no such closeness without suspicion or, worse, hexing, which made her smile for all of two seconds before the hard-hitting reality of the man's predicament settled in: he was alone, she was the only company he kept, and the confinements of this place acted as his only source of safety and security from the outside world still reeling over the former Death Eater's misconduct.

A rumbling thunder trembled from outside, as if echoing the witch's morbid thoughts. Hermione quickly shook her head and flicked her wand in a circle. It was another morning of diagnostic checks, nothing out of hers or the professor's ordinary routine.

"Well, your brain activity is still highly charged. Your lung capacity is good. Your heart's working at a greater capacity than last week. Blood count's still lower than what we'd like, but you're making excellent strides, Sir; slow but still very steady progress."

Hermione reached out and pulled the covers back to reveal the man's violent scars that covered much of his throat. "They're a little blue again this morning, but the ointment's holding. I can hardly see the rims around your scars anymore. That's all very encouraging, Sir."

Hermione scooted closer and levitated the jar of ointment into the air, dipping her fingers inside the container before beginning another massage treatment. Her delicate fingers moved attentively over Snape's skin, mindful of the rough patches versus the surprisingly smoother skin besides.

"You know, Professor," she began with exceeding gentleness, "you should have allowed someone else to perform that Dittany on you. That was very dangerous of you to attempt on your own, though I suppose it's rather silly to even argue the matter now. You didn't really have a choice, did you?

"I... I really _did_ think you were dead, Sir. We all did. I'm not sure if you revived yourself somehow after we left, or if you were unconscious and we mistakenly mistook you for dead. I really wish I knew... If I'd known you were still alive, I wouldn't have left you there by yourself, Sir. None of us would. _Honest._

"I know you used Blood Replenish on yourself as well. I'm curious... Harry mentioned a spell you used to help Draco Malfoy that day in the boy's lavatory in our sixth year, when he'd used _Sectumsempra_ on Draco? I wonder if that might have soaked up a lot of the blood? Although I can't really see how you could've performed the spell in the first place, seeing as you couldn't speak. I suppose non-verbally would work, but I'm not familiar with the spell. I don't recall anything in our _Advanced Potions_ text about it, so I'm assuming it was of your own invention?

"Of course, I told Harry to get rid of that ruddy book, but he wouldn't listen to me! It helped me discover who you were though, Professor. Did you know that? I traced the name Eileen Prince back to your mother. And your father, Tobias, was a Muggle. Fascinating... I always took you for a pureblood myself. Must be because it's such a defining trait of Slytherin House, although, I suppose, you're not _entirely_ Slytherin either, are you, Professor?"

Hermione paused to draw breath, completely unaware that she had been prattling on to the unconscious wizard for some time. Her fingertips gingerly moved in slow circles over Snape's throat, feeling the various reconstructed muscles below bare flesh.

"I _do_ hope you'll wake up soon, Professor. Merlin knows what you're waiting for..." She surveyed his somber-looking face. The deeply embedded stress creases along his forehead and around his slouched mouth were less prominent than they had once been and that was secretly pleasing to see. "I can only imagine the strains you were under back then," Hermione continued expressing her thoughts aloud. "I suppose if I was faced with these ungrateful shits, who never really thanked you properly for all your efforts, I wouldn't want to wake up either. Can't say that I blame you, Professor..."

Hermione paused her ministrations to the man's neck, her eyes heightening as they stared down at his closed eyelids, unresponsive as they were. "But all isn't lost, Professor. You have the potential for a better life now; a peaceful one. You don't need to worry about Harry, or the war, or the Dark Lord anymore, Sir. _You're free now._ Free to live out your own life as you see fit.

"So, _please_ wake up, Professor. Please... Wake up."

* * *

Later that week, Hermione found herself crawling out of bed in protest to every aching bone in her body. Not paying any mind to her unruly mop of hair, which she had tamed considerably in the past year and a half since the end of the war, Hermione trudged to work with less than her usual chipper, or, at the very least, focus.

"You missed quite the commotion this morning," Gwendle piped up when Hermione reached the Healer's station at her ward. Her peer additionally winked, casting Hermione an all-knowing smile.

"Oh? And what was that?"

"Healer Smethwyck made an appearance."

"That's like the sighting of a rare white elk," Hermione grumbled, placing her chin in her hand, exhausted.

"Exactly," Gwendle sniggered in agreement.

Hermione sighed wearily. "And what happened this time?"

"He was plastered, of course. I could smell the whiskey on his breath from where you're standing. You should have seen him stumbling about, banging into chairs and empty gurneys. I tried to dissuade him from going in to see Mrs. Grifford but—"

"_He didn't!_" Hermione gasped, her eyes widening in horror.

"I couldn't do anything, Hermione," Gwendle shook her head with disgust. "He practically tossed me aside like a Quaffle.

"To make a long story short, Mrs. Grifford was in a right old state. The two ended up in a cursing match; nearly woke up all the patients in our ward and then some. If Pye hadn't showed up at the right moment and intervened, I'm not sure what I or any of the Mediwitches could've done." Hermione wanted to be cross, thinking of a number of tactics the skittish witch could have infused but relented. "It took Pye and I nearly forty-five minutes to calm Mrs. Grifford down."

"And Healer Smethwyck?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"Pye sent him home. I'm surprised he got the man to listen at all; had to sort of diffuse the situation by giving Smethwyck some hogwash about being 'too overworked.'"

"_That's_ an understatement if I ever heard one!" Hermione huffed angrily. "Our workload has doubled thanks to his inadequacy!"

"You're telling me," Gwendle concurred, groaning. "Mrs. Grifford was quite aggrieved. It took Pye a long while to to put her at ease after he left. She refused a Calming Draught."

"Oh, dear..."

"Yes, well, her voice shrieks high enough to wake the dead. That woman is a nasty old hag, if you ask me."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She would gladly interrupt and put Gwendle in her place if she didn't wish to alienate herself entirely. As it was, Hermione didn't interact much with anyone else on staff, though she attempted several times to engage in polite conversation, only to find that she rather preferred no company at all to such grouchy, touchy staff members. Augustus Pye remained one of the few, if not the only employee, she liked. He routinely showed up for work with a welcoming smile and was easy to get on with, especially when compared all of the catty female coworkers on staff. Hermione decided early on in her training that she would model Pye's upbeat mentality, even if it killed her spirit in the end.

Choosing to bite back a retort, Hermione slipped Severus Snape's chart into her hands and excused herself, making sure to shut the door to the professor's room behind her. Snape was precisely as she had left him last, sleeping and undisturbed with the blankets drawn up to his neck.

Hermione casually did another quick diagnostic check, pleased to find his progress still steady, and went through the motions as she had done nearly every day for the past four months, not wasting much time in striking up a one-sided conversation. "We should do a cleansing charm, Professor," Hermione offered after setting up his tray of ointment and tonics, cracking an amused smile no less. "I daresay you wouldn't appreciate this if you were conscious, but it's necessary, Sir."

Flicking her wand in the air, Hermione cast the charm, which ruffled the sheets and his body slightly beneath the covers, signaling that the man was now clean, or as freshened up as he would get without proper access to a shower and soap.

Sighing, Hermione set to inserting the tonics into a Muggle IV machine next to Snape's bed, an unpopular device that had left more than a few Healers scratching their heads at Augustus Pye's insistence upon using the 'bizarre contraption.' Fellow Healer-in-charge, Smethwyck, was amongst those who viewed Pye's use of Muggle medical equipment with gross displeasure. It had been set up when Snape first arrived, though Pye, and now Hermione, were the only two who ever bothered to learn how to use it properly. Considering that Snape couldn't take any tonics by mouth, Hermione understood that this was likely the next best option, even by wizard standards.

Several syringes had been inserted into Snape's left arm over his months spent comatose. Though he normally would have attained severe bruising, Hermione had taken to cleaning up the marks herself with magic. Early on, that had led to checking more patched up wounds than she ever expected to find.

In only a week of overseeing the wizard's care, Hermione learned several startling revelations about the professor she didn't necessarily wish to unearth. The various slashes and cuts on Severus Snape's chest and back were alarming, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder that some might be self-inflicted, particularly the careful marks laced across his wrists. The idea left her squeamish and rattled to the core.

Hermione was shocked to discover how battered Snape's wiry frame really was beneath all those stark, heavy layers. There were slashes all along his collarbone and breast bones and an even larger trail that went down his back and forearms. The realization as to why finally dawned on her person that his extensive scarring probably had much to do with the reasons; or, at least, partially.

_No wonder he concealed himself under all those clothes_, she pondered sadly, glancing over the numerous markings in dismay. The night of that particular discovery, Hermione made a rare stop at The Leaky Cauldron instead of heading straight for home, as was her usual routine. She was in desperate need of a much-needed pint to drown out the disturbing images of those slashes that played over and over in her mind.

In all truthfulness, Hermione knew she _shouldn't_ be so astounded by their discovery. Harry had described Snape's memories to her and Ron a handful of times after the battle. His wrecked home life... His unloving father... His broken mother... The relentless bullying he received at the hands of people she once respected—well, Lupin, at any rate... She couldn't speak for Harry's father, Pettigrew was a traitor, and Black had always been, in her opinion, too reckless and irresponsible.

In many ways, it seemed as though Severus Snape's life had never really been his own. He crept from misfortune to misfortune, from mistake to blunder, from bad circumstances to worse happenings—all in the pursuit of doing right by Lily, Harry's late mother. Hermione had thought that remarkably noble, if not terribly unfair, of the man. Ultimately, he'd punished himself—_severely_—and nearly lost his life over a boy that wasn't his own, and, in all likelihood, should have been his...

Which was partly what set Hermione to taking on his case. She sensed no one else was going to willingly volunteer. Healer Pye had been quite content continuing to oversee the unpopular wizard's condition, but Hermione made sure to offer her services—nearly as soon as she arrived—and that she would "appreciate" being more heavily abreast of Severus Snape's treatment, to study and intervene if at all necessary.

Healer Pye was taken aback by Hermione's enthusiasm but consented with ease, thrilled to "have an apprentice who wanted to take on such a challenging case." Hermione hardly saw it as a challenge as much as the right thing to do. Penance for her mistakes, too; for not doing enough that night in the Shrieking Shacking...

_For not even stepping forward and checking to see if the man still had a bloody pulse._ Hermione glowered as she summoned a damp rag and bowl of hot water. She took the wet rag in hand and gently dabbed at Snape's forehead. _You just turned your back, Hermione. You, Ron, Harry... You all simply walked away from him. Why didn't you, of all people, not think to check his vital signs first?_

But then the logical portion of her brain spoke louder, trying to rationalize her ill feelings, though to no avail of her heavy heart. _How could you have known? No one could survive a snake attack like that. He'd lost so much blood... His throat was nearly severed in half... No one in their right state could survive something_ that _physically traumatic._

_...But Snape did._

* * *

Hermione turned over another page of her book on herbal-induced elixirs, jotting down notes with her feathered quill. Another Saturday night saw the bookworm Gryffindor curled up on the couch with a roaring fire simmering and a hot cup of cocoa in hand.

Winter had settled in recent weeks, blanketing the London streets with several inches of snow. "It's not even December yet!" many of the Muggles whined in protest to Mother Nature, but Hermione was enthused. She welcomed the changing of the seasons always, with quiet ease and a smile. It seemed a small matter to gripe about considering the actual hell _she_ had been through in recent years, after all.

Hermione was just settling into the next page of her book when the Floo network erupted in her fireplace, changing the flames to a piercing shade of green that lit up the entire room. Followed by the feel of her wards being penetrated and breached, Hermione smiled warmly when a familiar young redhead came galloping through the hearth, followed closely by a curly-haired blonde with bright blue eyes.

"Ginny!" she hollered excitedly. "Luna!"

"Hey, Hermione!" Ginny greeted for the pair of them.

Before Hermione could toss her book aside, she was enveloped by a hug from the youngest Weasley and the strange, distracted Ravenclaw. "What are you doing here?" she gasped, not taking a second for air. "You're supposed to be at school! You didn't sneak out again, did you? Oh, dear, you know what McGonagall would do if she found out you were—"

"Take a breath, Hermione," Ginny snickered, whilst Luna merely looked about the room, preoccupied and seemingly inattentive like always. "McGonagall's Headmistress now, remember? She doesn't have time to keep tabs on two measly students. We Flooed from Hogsmeade. We have to meet back up with our group in an hour. No one will suspect us missing."

Having taken a year off to grieve the loss of Fred, whilst Luna had taken a gap year to go on some vague, as yet not fully disclosed trip with her father across most of Europe, the two girls were only now finishing up their schooling. There were many students who had opted not to return to Hogwarts straightaway following the war, wanting necessary time off to recoup and grieve their losses. Hermione was all too pleased to see her friends this evening. It was a rarity to find any familiar faces passing through her Floo these days...

"How do you know?" Hermione challenged through reproachful eyes.

"Wrackspurts, of course," Luna answered airily with her back turned away from them, as if the answer should have been an obvious one. "Hogsmeade is full of them. You'd be amazed."

Ginny merely smiled, but Hermione grimaced with concern. "You both could get in serious trouble, you know."

"Oh, relax, Hermione, would you?" Ginny placed her hands mockingly on her hips and tapered her eyebrows. "Nice to see you, too."

Hermione's shoulders caved and she readily cracked a smile. "I'm sorry. It really_ is_ great to see you both!"

"Oh, did you miss us then?"

Luna angled her head over her shoulder, but then her eyes were diverted by the loud humming of the radiator underneath a nearby window. It was a noise Hermione was accustomed to hearing that her non-Muggle friends weren't, and the look of wonderment that befell Luna's face left Hermione humoring after her friend from afar.

"Of course I've missed you," she replied cheerfully, watching Luna inch closer to the radiator, as if she expected it to sprout legs. "How are things at Hogwarts?"

"Good!" Ginny returned. "Quite better than last year, but that goes without saying, doesn't it?"

"Quite," Hermione found herself swallowing the heaviness of the redhead's words.

"Speak of the devil," Ginny continued, not having noticed Hermione's look of apprehension, "how are things going at St. Mungo's?"

"Great! I... I'm a little overworked because one of the Healers has literally dropped out of sight, but, between another peer, myself and Healer Pye, we're managing well enough."

"You look knackered."

"I am. I'm working anywhere from ten to twelve hour shifts most days."

"_What?_"

"It's part of my training, Ginny," she chuckled at her friend's gaping mouth. "I don't mind. What else am I going to do?"

Ginny's mouth slumped and she shook her head, discouraged. "You really ought to get out more, Hermione. You're always welcome to come pay us a visit, you know. Just because you've graduated doesn't mean you're exempt from coming back to Hogwarts. Even Hagrid's been wondering what you're up to."

"I know, I'm sorry... In all fairness, though, I'm knackered by the time I get home. The last thing I can think about is venturing out again."

Hermione felt highly pathetic, sitting in her sweats in a darkened room with only her book for company, until being abruptly interrupted from her solitude. _I must look a sight_, she considered, her thoughts laden with uneasiness. Ginny seemed to have reached a similar conclusion by giving her a critical frown.

"Have you seen Harry or Ron much at all?"

"No... Have you?"

"No." It came out almost like a growl, to which Hermione raised an eyebrow. Ginny flopped down on the couch beside her and let out a disgruntled sigh. "Harry hasn't written to me in weeks."

"Oh... Well, I'm sure he's fairly busy with his Auror training."

"Too busy for a single, solitary owl?"

Hermione took possession of her hot cocoa in both hands. "No, you've got a point there..." Uncomfortable when things suddenly fell silent, she leaned forward, giving Ginny a sympathetic ear. "I'm sorry, Gin."

"Whatever, it's fine. I knew he'd go back to ignoring me once everything died down. It's just as well."

"Ignoring you? What makes you say that?"

"Hermione, c'mon, you know how Harry is..."

"Oh."

Hermione would have mentioned that she _did_ understand, except that she hadn't, in fact, seen her friend—or Ron, for that matter—in months. Not only did it seem like Ginny was being ignored, but Hermione was growing all too familiar with that inkling as well.

"How - How's your brother?" she asked reluctantly, bringing her cocoa to her lips fast.

"He's fine," Ginny gave her a reassuring half smile. "He asked about you recently, too."

"Oh?"

"Mmm. I don't understand you two. You're not interested in each other, yet you want to remain friends; but then why haven't you seen each other?"

"Ask Ron," Hermione mumbled into her cup.

"I have. Multiple times. He says he misses you; feels bad about how Mum handled things."

"Then why didn't he ever reach out afterwards?"

Hermione couldn't contain the hurt that tumbled out with her question. She was vaguely aware of Luna shuffling about nearby, knowing the peculiar witch would enter the conversation when she deemed it necessary.

"I think he thought you were upset with him."

"He's not the one who yelled at me and tossed me out, Gin."

"I know," Ginny lowered her eyes in shame. "I'm so sorry about that. I've never known Mum to be so hard. We were all livid, even Dad told her she was off her rocker."

Hermione shrugged, not really knowing what else to say. Another awkward silence befell the room until Luna finally entered the conversation, though unexpectedly, and with a question of her own.

"How's Snape?"

Luna had made her way over to the radiator with success, though she was, at present, hesitantly reaching out a hand to touch the lid, still afraid it might leap out and bite off her fingers. Hermione suppressed a smile as she watched, amused.

"His condition is virtually unchanged. Well, I shouldn't say that. He's made progress, but it's been slow. Apparently he responds much better with regular human contact, something he wasn't getting much of at all until I started overseeing his care."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked almost skeptically.

"You speak to him?" Luna additionally interjected.

"Yes... And he seems to respond favorably to the consistency of my voice. It's a good sign."

Ginny raised a confused eyebrow. "Erm, you talk to him?"

"Yes."

"About what?"

It sounded rather stupid in hindsight, and Hermione found herself blushing. "About anything, Ginny. His condition, the tasks I'm performing on him at any given moment, the weather, I don't know. I just talk. I'm the only regular visitor he has."

"That's a shame," Luna whispered with a trickle of sadness that Hermione matched in her returned expression. "I never thought he was all that bad. Just misunderstood."

"Oh?" Ginny crossed her arms defiantly, for a moment giving a flashing resemblance of her mother. "Even when he was terrorizing the school last year?" She caught Hermione's flicker of resentment and nodded accordingly. "No offense, Hermione, but he wasn't all that kind to any of us. You weren't there. I've forgiven him and understand he did what he had to do, but I find it hard to believe that Luna here could see any trace of good in the man_ before_ the truth came out. He disguised it remarkably well, you have to admit."

Hermione didn't argue on that point. "You're right, he did."

"But there was always something inherently sad about him, I thought," Luna insisted, still too distracted by the loud radiator to take notice of her friends' curious regards. "He was always alone," she continued absentmindedly. "When you're alone most of the time, you observe people a lot closer. I'm a loner, too, so I understand what that's like."

"Yes..." Hermione paused to sip her cocoa. "Well, I suppose he wouldn't mind the quietude of his room then as it is. He receives no visitors besides me and Healer Pye on occasion."

Ginny sighed, "That_ is_ sad, I'll admit. Do you think he may wake up soon?"

"No idea. I sure hope so. I think he deserves to live out his life in peace at this point, don't you?"

"Yes," Luna spoke up for the pair of them this time. She had finally gathered enough moxie to touch the lid, where she now hovered, examining it through widened eyes. "Do you suppose there's Blibbering Humdingers in here? Could I reach my fingers through?"

"No, Luna," Hermione cackled loudly, to which Ginny joined in. "That's called a radiator. It heats my flat. I use it in conjunction with a heating charm because otherwise it's ruddy freezing in here."

Ginny cocked her head. "Why not just use the charm alone?"

"Discretion, remember?"

"Oh, right," Ginny nodded understandingly, then rolled her eyes. "Living-amongst-Muggles regulations."

Luna, however, ignored the change in conversation entirely. "I still think you have some in here, Hermione. You'll let me know if you ever find out, won't you? I could take it apart to be sure, but they sound very, very angry. Best not to aggravate a Blibbering Humdinger. They're known to eat fingers and toes when provoked."

After sharing another laugh at the funny witch's expense, Hermione eased off the couch and Ginny followed suit. "Do you want some hot cocoa? I want to hear all about your studies this year."

"Sure, sounds good!"

* * *

Two weeks later, Hermione found herself meandering down the narrow corridor of her ward, distracted. Her mind had become rather consumed with the professor of late, mainly as his condition was starting to show some drastic changes for the better. When she wasn't overseeing his care, however, her thoughts still attended to him, even when she was supposed to be focused on other patients.

Not that Hermione was ever neglectful of her duties. She consistently earned high marks for her training, and Healer Pye had made note of hammering to her many times over how "thoroughly impressed" he was with the young trainee's progress. Gwendle, her only other peer in the Dai Llewellyn Ward, was also doing quite well, though there seemed to be a mutual understanding between them that they were on the same team rather than in some sort of secret competition with one another.

Hermione welcomed that change of decorum. It was a healthier alternative to her school days, where she had always felt compelled to outdo everyone else, only to find excelling to the extreme did nothing but alienate her from her classmates and expound her insecurities.

Her studying tactics had changed quite dramatically upon her final return to Hogwarts to finish out her schooling. It was only natural, however, that experiencing war, destruction, and death would be enough to instill change in the mindsets of many surviving students, Hermione amongst them. Being at the top of her class was no longer a priority. Excelling certainly was still an ideal the Gryffindor in her would never let go, but being the best wasn't enough anymore. Hermione found she could no longer retreat into her studies and absorb them as fully as she once had for days on end. Keeping her nose buried behind books hadn't changed, only she didn't use them as an excuse to hide from everyone.

_You know this stuff, Hermione_, she would remind herself when the anxiety became too great._ And anyway, what did Professor Snape used to tell you? 'Every answer doesn't lie within the confines of a textbook, you silly girl!'_

Hermione found herself smiling faintly upon remembrance of that lesson in her fifth year, when she had gone in search of more extra credit from the professor—something she had done ever since she was first plucked by the school as a twelve-year-old girl. It would take several more years for the young witch to finally grasp what the snarky wizard meant by his seeming insult; that he was, in fact, trying to spare her from going mad and, instead, wished her to rely more heavily on her intuition than what someone else stated in print.

"One day I'll have to thank him for that," Hermione determined under her breath, unaware of doing so, until she received a funny look from Gwendle, who had just popped out from checking on a newly bitten werewolf patient.

"Thank who?" she questioned without thinking, causing Hermione to rattle backwards.

"What? Oh! Erm, nothing."

Giving her another befudded expression, Gwendle shrugged and waltzed across the hallway to the next patient on her rounds. Hermione made her way to the Healer's station at the far end of the hallway and was just levitating a patient's chart back onto the protected shelf when the door to Severus Snape's room swung open, causing Hermione to startle once more and clutch a hand to her chest in fright.

A heavyset, scruffy-looking wizard with receding white hair, expanding gray eyes, and a large, round nose came huffing out of the room, looking thoroughly winded and annoyed. "Still nothing!" he snuffed and slammed the chart in his hand down on the desk, causing a Mediwitch standing nearby to scurry away out of sight.

"Good morning, Healer Smethwyck," Hermione chanced once she caught her breath.

"Eh?" the elderly man grunted, looking Hermione over with a censorious eye. "Morning, Miss Granger."

"I was just about to check on Master Snape... How is he?"

The Healer eyed his trainee as if she were either blind or thick in the head. "The same as always, Miss Granger. I lament to say that absolutely _nothing_ has changed for the man in the weeks that I've been unable to look after him myself."

Hermione found herself biting back her tongue. After all, the Healer had been on a series of regular binges for months, leaving _her_ to oversee the professor's care virtually all of the time without guidance. And the fact that her incompetent superior couldn't perceive the strides the man was, in fact, making in his absence, and under her careful eye, was an insult to her ears.

"With all due respect, Sir," Hermione began cautiously, "I've been working with Master Snape a great deal and his vital signs are looking remarkably improved from—"

"I hardly see improved lung function as that great of a stride, Miss Granger," Healer Smethwyck snuffed, scribbling a few notes into Severus Snape's chart. "He still has that heart murmur, the ointments for the snake bites haven't done him any good, as they're still as much of an eyesore as before, and he remains unconscious, despite his highly functioning brain activity."

Hermione couldn't help narrowing her eyes. "I've been using our newest scar ointment on him for several weeks, Sir—"

"Be that as it may, Miss Granger, they don't look any better."

"I beg to differ," Hermione insisted quietly, earning an arched eyebrow from the senior Healer.

"_Oh?_" he hissed and curled his upper lip.

"Did you apply it in conjunction with the Skin Replenishing potion?"

Healer Smethwyck eyed her rather stupidly, or so she thought. "I... What?"

"I took the liberty of adding it to his treatment plan two weeks ago—"

"Who the devil authorized you to do _that_, Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned beet red. No one, in fact, had given her permission to do much of anything differently to the man's care. She had merely taken it upon herself, seeing as she was virtually left alone to take charge. Healer Pye certainly had illustrated confidence in her abilities and mostly left her alone. Finding herself flustered and on the receiving end of an almost accusatory glare from the Healer-in-charge, Hermione was stumbling to find how to reply diplomatically and save face when they were both interrupted by someone else.

"I did, Hippocrates," came Healer Pye's authoritative, yet friendly, voice from behind her. Casually joining in on the conversation, Healer Pye gave them both his usual smile, though it only seemed to rile Healer Smethwyck's agitation. He shot his fellow Healer a sharp look. "Seeing as Miss Granger here volunteered to work under you in overseeing the man's care, and with you're unavailability the past several weeks, I allowed Miss Granger to put her training to good use. That's just as you taught me yourself, is it not?"

Healer Smethwyck didn't give a direct answer to the question. Instead, he muttered something heatedly under his breath that neither of them heard properly and waddled away, abandoning Severus Snape's chart for Hermione to file. Flicking his wand sharply, another chart flew into the grumpy man's hands and he disappeared into another room without giving either of his colleagues a second glance.

"See to your patient, Hermione," Healer Pye encouraged, not illustrating any discomfort for what had occurred, and spun around.

Hermione felt utterly perturbed but quietly did as instructed. Taking Severus Snape's chart in hand and quickly surveying Healer's Smethwyck angry handwriting that consisted of "status quo" and "no noteworthy progress to be found," Hermione entered the slumbering wizard's room and shut the door with more force than usual.

Rather than immediately running a diagnostic test, however, Hermione tossed the chart into the air beside her and peered down at a sleeping Snape, her eyes intensely studying his stone-like, pallid face. "I'm sorry, Professor," she found herself whispering aloud. "Healer Smethwyck is out of practice, it would seem, and can't see the improvements you've been making day by day. _I_, for one, think you're making remarkable strides, Sir, so please don't give up on me."

Without thinking, Hermione reached out and brushed a few soft strands of black hair away from the man's closed eyelids. Her fingers briefly swept across his forehead, still finding the surly wizard's skin surprisingly soft to the touch. She hadn't expected that and it still astonished her, for whatever reason. She was about to relinquish her contact when the sight before her eyes brought forth an involuntary yelp and a jolt of her entire body.

Hermione reared back at a pair of fluttering eyelashes and the abrupt, fleeting toss of Professor Snape's head. Had she just imagined that, or had Professor Snape actually _moved?_

Hermione breathed hard, focused on the man's face and, sure enough, her mouth fell open, unaware of how fast her heart was pounding against her chest. She was met by colorless irises—dark and cold as night—that, though somewhat hazy, honed in on her the second they opened to the world at last after eighteen months.

Hermione didn't have time to reflect upon the icy stare she found herself on the receiving end of. Instead, she took another trembling breath and inched closer to the wizard's bedside, where he lay—to her utter shock and astonishment—wide awake, though still unmoving save for his blinking eyes.

"P - Professor Snape?" When she received no response, only an unwavering stare, Hermione moved even closer. "Sir, it - it's Hermione Granger. You... You're awake!"

* * *

**A/N #2: :)  
**


	3. Awakened

**A/N: I'm stunned and cannot believe the overwhelming number of responses to this little ficlet of mine! (I've been walking around with my mouth open for days, Lol!) I can't thank you all enough for your wonderful feedback, favs, and alerts! _But THANK YOU ANYWAY!_ I'm sure you'll grow tired of me saying it, but I _should_ and _must!_ :) **

**I left you with a bit of a cliffie last time (I _had_ to do it! *snicker*), so here's the next chapter, as promised! I should mention that this fic is rated T for reasons that will become apparent as we move through the story. There won't be sexual content or, perhaps, that burning fire and intense passion we find in many other SSHG fanfics, but I hope that what's presented here still gives you some of those warm feels we so love about this pairing. :)  
**

**__****Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny!  
**

**********Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and ****own none of her associated characters. **

* * *

**Chapter 3: Awakened**

_**"Everybody sins. The terrible thing is that we love our sins. We love the thing that makes us evil."**_  
**-Robert Cormier, Heroes**

* * *

It seemed like an eternity before Severus Snape finally broke the breathless tension between Healer and patient by blinking a few more times. Letting out a low, uncomfortable moan, he fluttered his eyelashes and tried to make sense of his surroundings, not to mention the young woman staring down at him with enlarged eyes and a gaping mouth like a codfish's; only, she wasn't half bad-looking.

_What the... _He squinted._ Granger?_

"Professor," Hermione repeated again with more urgency, placing her hand gently on the wizard's shoulder, "can you hear me? Sir?"

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but the muscles in his throat wouldn't work properly. It took him nearly a minute to formulate a reply, and, even then, it wasn't much, leaving the newly conscious wizard in his own state of inner panic.

"Wh - Where...am...I?"

His normally deep, rich baritone sounded quite unnatural and strained to both of their ears. Hermione caught the flicker of surprise on his face, the alarm at how unlike himself he sounded. Then again, having spent months reconstructing the wizard's vocal chords, it wasn't entirely shocking to Hermione to hear a different register after a year and a half without regular use of his voice.

Still taken aback, though slightly calmer, Hermione gave his shoulder a squeeze. "You're in St. Mungo's, Sir. You've been here for... For eighteen months."

_'Eighteen months'?_

The shock of that news practically shouted from Snape's expression. His pupils dilated, soaking in the realization of how long he had been absent, without recollection of being in such a place as this.

"Professor Snape? Sir? Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

His eyes were attentive to the young witch's voice again, but he didn't quite appear to be seeing her. Hermione swiftly withdrew her wand, her hand shaking a little. She whipped her wrist in a circle to perform a diagnostic study. Her sigh of relief informed them both that all was relatively well, though his heart rate was elevated. To Snape, however, who seemed incapable of moving, another concern formulated in his awakened mind: why did he feel so damn disoriented?

As if reading the private wizard's thoughts, Hermione whispered gently, "Can you move at all, Professor? You've been out for a very long time. If you can't, don't panic. That's an entirely normal response."

"Wha... What?" he rasped, his eyebrows coming together at an intense angle.

Giving him a cautious look over, Hermione leaned in closer, her hand still touching his shoulder. "You've been in a coma, Professor. You've been here since... Well, do you remember? Can you recall why you're here?"

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. His mouth formed into a tight frown, his brow furrowed and his eyes closed, trying to recollect what had led to this moment. Hermione suspected that Snape was in the midst of some level of mental and emotional distress. Moving his head slowly back and forth, Snape groaned in response, and then he fell quiet.

"It's all right, Sir. Try not to move too much. It's going to take you a while to come out of this state of yours. Just lie still."

Hermione could feel her heart racing. She needed assistance, and certainly the other Healers would need to be informed that their—_her_—patient was suddenly awake and alert. She dreaded the idea of informing the tipsy, irritable Healer Smethwyck, but there would likely be more trouble for her if she didn't notify her superiors straightaway.

Moving quickly, Hermione set up the professor's tray as usual and drew the covers more securely around him. Leaning in so close that she could hear his subtle, though rapid, breathing, Hermione whispered, "Stay calm, Professor. It's all right. Everything's going to be fine. Please don't try to move yet. I'll be right back."

Waiting to see that her words had registered, Snape gave a slight nod of understanding, though his eyes told a different story: one of paranoia and, to her dismay, perhaps even fear. Hermione flew out of the room, sending a signal up with her wand, as was protocol. Within seconds, both Healers Pye and Smethwyck came flying out of patients' rooms, the elder of the two huffing and puffing as he made his way back to the Healer's station, where Hermione stood twiddling her thumbs anxiously.

"What the devil is it _now_, Miss Granger?" he nearly growled once he reached her and Healer Pye. "I was just in the midst of administering Mr. Totthill's tonics!"

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I thought I should inform you both that Master Snape is awake."

"_What?_"

Healer Pye's eyes also widened. He turned around to quickly inform Gwendle, who had just popped her head out of her own patient's room, to return to her duties, as well as the other curious Mediwitches who were drawing closer, and took Healer Smethwyck by the shoulder. "Miss Granger and I can handle this, Hippocrates. Why don't you return to—"

"Oh, no you don't!" Healer Smethwyck threw up an accusatory finger at his fellow colleague, which surprised Hermione. "He was _my_ patient, Augustus, before you ever allowed an inexperienced trainee to take over when I left! _I_ will handle this, thank you very much!"

"Um, Sir," Hermione tried to interrupt, "he - he's quite distressed and is known to have a rather vexing temper if pushed—"

"Don't tell me how to do my job, Miss Granger! See to Mr. Totthill's tonics._ I_ will handle Master Snape from here. Give me that!" The Healer snatched the dark wizard's chart from Hermione's grasp and stomped past them both into the professor's room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Hermione to stare after where she was, fuming.

"Sir, _please!_" she begged, reaching out and taking Healer Pye firmly by the arm. "Snape's in no condition to be barked at right now! He needs somebody calm to deal with him! He only just woke up and I'm unsure yet how stable he really is—"

"Don't worry, Hermione," he tried to reassure her in a collected tone and with a halfhearted smile. "Just relax. I know this is unexpected, and I'll try to ease Hippocrates into letting you continue his treatment—"

"It's not about that! He just woke up! _He's in shock!_ And Healer Smethwyck barging in on him like that—"

"Hermione, relax. Just tell me what happened."

Realizing she was more flustered than was professionally appropriate, Hermione swallowed hard and dropped her arm to her side. "I - I simply touched his face, Sir, after checking his vital signs, and his eyes opened."

"Just like that?"

"Erm, yes..."

"Were you speaking to him at the time?"

"I was," she answered, feeling rather foolish, though Healer Pye didn't show any indication of thinking so.

"I see. Well, he _has_ been making enormous strides, as you described in his chart notes. I was looking them over yesterday. I suppose we should've seen this coming a lot sooner."

"Perhaps... But—"

Hermione's sentence was abruptly cut short, as a loud curse echoed from Severus Snape's room. Healer Pye and Hermione quickly progressed towards the door when it swung open and a red-faced Healer Smethwyck loomed in the doorway, looking absolutely infuriated.

"He bit me!" he cried, flabbergasted, showcasing a bleeding index finger with clear teeth markings. "The bastard actually_ bit_ me!"

Hermione was too shocked to reply, and when she turned to her fellow Healer-in-charge for guidance, she caught the flicker of suppressed amusement dancing across Healer Pye's bright eyes. "I'm terribly sorry about that, Hippocrates. You should see to that wound. Perhaps Miss Granger should take over—"

"Yes, yes, _FINE!_ Get in there, Miss Granger, before the sod drags himself out of bed and unleashes his teeth on us all!"

_Highly unlikely_, Hermione found herself biting back.

Not really knowing what else to say, Hermione quietly did as instructed and walked towards the open doorway. She vaguely heard Healer Pye tell her that he would "be along in a moment" and eased her way around a beefy, fiercely enraged Smethwyck.

The room was silent once Smethwyck shut the door—loudly—and Hermione was met by the sight of the professor, lying still in his bed, save for his excited, heavy breathing. He was tossing his head about and trying to shift his legs, as if to sit up, but kept grunting in defeat.

Hermione hurried over and gave him another look over. His black eyes were enlarged and visibly distressed. They zoned in on her immediately when she came into view and, to her heightened alarm, he thrashed his head when she attempted to reach out and touch him.

"It's all right, Professor," Hermione tried to soothe softly, setting to administering his tonics via the IV drip with her wand. "I'm not going to harm you, I promise. I'm here to help. I - I'm so sorry about Healer Smethwyck. I swear, he meant no harm; he just, erm, doesn't have the gentlest bedside manners, I'm afraid. I should've handled this myself. Lets get you more comfortable, shall we?"

A distraught Snape merely watched Hermione bustle around his bed, wearing a calming disposition on her face that somehow, in some form or another, managed to dispel much of his internal angst and confusion—at least, enough to calm him down and will his body into a deep sleep.

* * *

It had been a mere twenty-four hours since Snape shocked them all with his reawakening. So far, however, any attempts anyone had made to get near the man were proving futile, even for Hermione.

Thus, she was keenly aware of the conscious wizard's retinas practically burning into her head as she moseyed about next to his bed the following day, setting up his tray whilst trying to be as discrete as possible about approaching him. _Hardly easy to sneak up on a Slytherin, Hermione_, she reminded herself as she unlatched the lid on his scar ointment and held it up for the vulnerable man to appraise. For all she knew, the former spy was probably convinced that one of them, if not her, were out to poison him, and Hermione was determined to earn the wizard's trust.

"This is a scar treatment I've been using on you the past several weeks. It's lessened the visibility of your wounds, so why don't we continue?"

Why did that whole explanation sound eerily familiar to him for some damn reason? Snape snapped his head to both sides, his eyes darkening as he stared up at her, wordlessly threatening her not to tread any closer.

"Please, Sir, it'll help. I'm not going to hurt you,_ I promise._"

"No!" he struggled to reply, his voice still coarse-sounding.

"Professor, _please_, you _have_ to let us treat you. If you don't, you'll relapse. No one here's going to harm you, I swear it."

"You..." It was quite fascinating, if not shocking, for Hermione to see the wizard's face so animated after being immobile for so long. "Potter... V - Vol - Voldemort..."

Hermione cocked her head to one side, choosing to plod_ that_ bit of information carefully. "That's over now, Sir. The Dark Lord was destroyed. Harry won the fight; he survived. Everything is as it should be."

Seeing the dawning realization in the man's quiet, somber reflection, Hermione chanced moving closer. "McGonagall is the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, Kingsley Shacklebolt is the Minister for Magic, and Harry's working as an Auror now..."

Snape didn't reply, only stared at his former student with a nearly vacant expression; she sensed that there had to be so much more brewing behind the eyes, however. The tension in Snape's body started to ease, so Hermione sucked in a breath and kept on talking, all the while inching closer and filling the awkward void with her incessant chatter.

Either the professor wasn't aware that Hermione had soaked her fingers with the ointment and begun massaging his throat or, more likely, he was too frail yet to protest what she was doing, but, either way, Hermione hardly paused for breath, doing her best to ignore Snape's penetrating gaze. He never said a word and rarely so much as blinked.

"...I decided to go into Healing," she explained as she gently rubbed at Snape's throat, "I'm not sure if you ever sensed how much I enjoyed Potions, Sir, but I really _did_ find it an immensely fascinating subject. Professor Slughorn never really had your expertise, if I may be so bold as to say, but I learned a lot in my final year. I _do_ wish I could've learned under your instruction, however. You were always much more challenging. I'm sure you would have pushed me further than I was given the opportunity to advance, but that's life, I suppose. I made do on my own, for the most part.

"I'm very glad I chose this career path, Professor. I really like helping people. Discovering new healing spells and forms of treatment have become my greatest ambition. It's all quite tough, but stimulating work, and I feel like I'm doing something for the benefit of many; something _worthwhile._ It's nice to be of use, really..."

Hermione paused for the briefest moment, but, to Snape's exasperation, yet queer, curiosity, she wasn't through yet. "I took over your case when I began my training here some four months ago. Oh, I guess it's been five now? Anyway, Healer Smethwyck, erm, whom you met yesterday, had been treating you up until then, but he's been going through some, um, personal matters that have required his attention, so it's mainly been me looking after you.

"You've been quite the perplexing case, Professor," she babbled on, whilst Snape surveyed her with an unwavering gaze. "You've had active brain function whilst in your coma, but no matter what treatments and spells we've tried to awaken you with, you wouldn't come out of your deep sleep. After a while, Healer Smethwyck decided to focus his attention on reconstructing your vocal cord muscles, the scars, and what damage the venom had done to the rest of your body."

Snape's stark eyes flickered and his body went rigid beneath the sheets. Hermione blushed and tried to quickly recover from offering such direct information; or maybe he was simply irritated with her persistent chatter. That didn't stop her from continuing, however.

"Oh, no worries, Sir! Your body has healed very nicely and responded well to treatment. You had some shallow breathing and a heart murmur that was a bit worrisome for a while, but that seems to be clearing at last. Your throat muscles, as I understand it, were very difficult to patch up. I do so wish I could've seen the undertaking of such reconstruction myself—it would have been absolutely fascinating to witness how that was done!—but I started training after that part of your treatment was complete.

"It may take you some time to speak thoroughly again, you know. Your muscles are out of practice and with the reconstruction, it may have a different register than what you're accustomed to, but time will tell, as these things always do."

Hermione ended her massage with a pleasant, reinforcing smile that Snape didn't return. "There! I think we're done with your scar treatment for today. The wounds are still noticeable, I'm sorry to say, but they're not nearly as dark as they once were. You really shouldn't have used that Dittany all on your own, Sir. No wonder it didn't do you much good."

Snape's deep-seated frown made Hermione laugh nervously. "I'm sorry, I can tell you're terribly cross with me for saying so. I meant no offense. You had to do what you did to survive; I understand that. That's been the biggest mystery of all, Professor. None of us know how you survived Nagini's attack. It's a miracle story,_ truly!_

"But enough of my mindless chatter," she offered breathlessly. "I have some tests that I'll need to run shortly, but for now, why don't I let you get some rest? You've been bombarded enough, I think. I'll be back in a couple hours to check on you. I'll bring you some food as well; that will be one of our first trials: to see how productive your swallowing is. Not to worry, Sir; sometimes that can take a while, too, to get your muscles working again.

"But listen to me jabbering on like this! I'm terribly sorry," she apologized through another blush, seeing how stone-like Snape's face had gone. "I'll let you rest now. Oh, and no getting up under any circumstances, all right? There's a button here next to your bed. There, can you see that? Yes, there... If you need anything, merely press the button and I or one of the Mediwitches will be in to see to your needs, all right?"

When Snape eye's widened for a moment before returning to their normal shape, Hermione risked another upbeat smile. Snape wasn't sure how the Gryffindor swot seemed capable of reading his thoughts, as no one normally could, but somehow, despite never stopping for breath, Hermione was trying to read him now and could sense what was troubling him.

"Oh... Not Healer Smethwyck, Sir. Not to worry. It will likely be myself or Healer Pye, if I'm unavailable, checking in on you. Healer Pye's a very nice man; I'm sure you'll take a liking to him."

_Take a liking to him? Who the hell do you think you're talking to, Hermione?_ she internalized._ Get on with it. The poor man is petrified; leave him alone!_

"Oh, dear, I really _am_ prattling on, aren't I? Well, sleep well, Professor. I'll be back before you know it."

* * *

Severus Snape stared up at the mundane ceiling for what felt like ages. What the bloody hell had that wretched girl been going on about for so damn long? He remembered details about his vocal cords being destroyed and reassembled, that his vital signs at one time had been poor but were improving, and the fact that he had been in a coma for a whole damn year and a half, but all the other details were fuzzy, at best.

How on earth had he managed to miss out on eighteen months of life after the end of the war?

_The war..._

Hermione Granger had informed him that it was all over now. The Dark Lord had been eradicated, though the Potter boy had miraculously survived. How had he—and Dumbledore, for that matter—overlooked_ that_ miscalculation? Somehow, Lily's son hadn't been sacrificed in the end after all, overcoming yet another brush with death. And here, Severus had for so long believed that his final debt to Lily would be paid in full with his life.

_My life... I'm alive... Why?  
_

Severus tried to snarl, but it came out more like a choked groan that didn't register with his ears. It frightened him. His voice wasn't his own and this body was too numb, too stiff, to belong to him. He desperately wanted to move, but his limbs were inflexible, not to mention far too hefty. They weighed him down as never before, and every attempt to bend his legs or shift his arms left gravity pinning them to the bed. It was all too much of an effort. He could barely raise a hand, let alone the rest of his battered body.

_What am I still doing here?_

"Tired," he mumbled aloud into the darkness.

For being confined to a comatose state for eighteen months, the alert wizard thought it highly odd to be_ this_ run down. How long had he even been awake? Perhaps an hour or two?

Then there was that nagging Granger girl, a member of the obnoxious Golden Trio, who had given him so much headache and unnecessary grief over the years, with all their muddling about, getting themselves into trouble. Severus had done more than his fair share tailing after those ungrateful brats.

Apparently, even with the war now well over and done with, Severus _still_ couldn't escape their presence, not even in hospital. Not only did the overly excited brains of the outfit ramble on to him no sooner after he had woken up, but she also had the audacity to address his wounds without his consent.

_Figures!_ Severus let out a burdensome sigh. _How long am I going to be like this?_

Severus tried yet again to shift his torso and long legs into an upright position but failed. Collapsing his head against his pillows and inhaling deeply, Severus was suddenly hit with a leaden want for sleep, which he didn't attempt to fight off. Before long, Severus was dozing again, his breathing soft and even, as he allowed his dreams to overtake his overwhelmed thoughts.

* * *

Hermione could still hardly fathom the reality: Severus Snape had awoken. She wasn't even sure how yet—no one did—as she hadn't done anything out of the ordinary to bring it about.

_Other than touch his face..._

Hermione blinked hard and hastily finished the last of her rounds with a young gentleman who had recently acquired an Acromantula bite, thereby losing all sensation in his left arm. After attending to the man's wound with further nerve-ending spells, Hermione was making her way back to the Healers' station when she was met by a frantic Gwendle, who came rushing up to her with eyes as widened as Bludgers.

"Severus Snape is _awake?_" she gasped, clutching Hermione firmly by the arm. "Pye just told me!"

"Yes, he is." Having been far too busy getting the man situated and calmed down the previous day, Hermione wasn't surprised to find her coworker pining for more details.

"But - But _how?_" Gwendle demanded excitedly.

"I haven't the faintest idea... I've been going over it in my head all morning." Human touch was the only solution, and yet, Hermione wasn't exactly ready for the rest of the ward to extract _that_ piece of the puzzle. _It will only be misconstrued_, she quickly concluded.

"Hermione, you must have done_ something_ differently to cause him to wake up so suddenly?"

"What are you trying to suggest?"

Gwendle reared back, and Hermione swiftly averted her eyes. "I'm not trying to accuse you, Hermione—"

"I see you've been overhearing Smethwyck then?"

The girl blushed her answer before it came. "Maybe a little..."

Hermione couldn't prevent from rolling her eyes and letting out a dramatic huff, anger formulating in her eyes. "He's going to make me pay somehow, I know it! He hasn't been at all happy since he found out I overstepped his authority by overtaking Snape's care in his absence."

"So what? If anyone's going to take the fall, it's _Pye_, Hermione, not you. He gave you permission."

"But that isn't fair! He didn't have any choice; none of us did! That incompetent sod's been too busy drinking himself sideways and not showing up for work the past bloody—"

"_Shhh, he's coming!_" Gwendle squeaked and quickly scampered away out of sight.

Catching sight of the elderly man at the opposite end of the hallway, Hermione willed some composure and levitated Severus Snape's chart from the shelf. Having taken the liberty of ordering food for the professor earlier that morning, Hermione made haste into the wizard's room, trying to be as discrete as possible. The last thing she wanted was for Smethwyck to disrupt her or her recovering patient again. The Healer's vile temper hadn't lessened, and his mood swings were frequent and unpredictable.

_Reminds me of another wizard I know_, Hermione mused for all of two seconds.

When she shut the door to peer across at that very wizard, she spotted Snape sleeping peacefully. Tip toeing over to the man's bedside, Hermione found a tray of food on his nightstand with a warming charm still in place: roast pork with applesauce, mustard, and steamed vegetables.

"They must have just brought this up for you, Sir."

Realizing she was foolishly speaking aloud to him as if he were still in a coma, Hermione flushed red, grateful that Snape didn't wake, though not for long. The man needed to eat, which meant she would have to rouse him anyhow. She gently prodded his shoulder.

"Professor? Sir, it's Hermione Granger. I'm sorry to wake you, but it's time to eat."

Snape startled, his tired eyes shooting open and centering on her immediately. After blinking several times, Snape's awareness of where he was and who was speaking to him became apparent, and he silently glared his disapproval at the witch's presence.

Forcing a smile, Hermione levitated the tray towards him. "Are you still feeling fairly stiff?"

"Quite," he rasped; Hermione tried not to flinch at how frail the man sounded.

"That's normal. It should start to wear off soon, but I have a tonic here to aid the process. Let's get you into an upright position."

With a flick of her wand, the professor was carefully levitated upward and a handful of fresh pillows materialized to cradle his exposed neck and spine. Given a full view of the man's neck wounds, Hermione wasn't unhinged and didn't even catch the flicker of humiliation in Snape's eyes at having the bites so exposed. He said nothing as she fussed with making him more comfortable, though his trademark scowl was enough to illustrate his objection at being moved not of his own accord, as well as being coddled and canoodled like an overgrown child.

"Here, Sir."

Hermione brought a small phial to his lips, but Snape only tossed his head to the side. "No," he defied her with a low hiss.

Even with a scratchy voice, Hermione had to hand it to Snape. He could still command and cut someone short with only a few choice words.

"Sir, you_ must_ take it, and I don't want to have to force you."

"I'll...take it...on my own..."

"If you insist," she issued respectfully.

Hermione placed the phial in the wizard's hand, her fingers lightly brushing his—callused and worn and much larger than her own, though more gentle to the touch than she ever expected to find them. Not thinking anything of their brief bit of contact, Hermione pulled away, unaware of the subtly disturbed look Snape now bore.

The former spy certainly wasn't accustomed to human touch. But then, why did her touch feel almost...commonplace? Something about that warm brush of skin on skin contact was disturbingly familiar...

With difficulty, Snape pushed the incident to the back of his mind and consumed the contents in one gulp. Hermione thought the wizard's first test at swallowing had gone remarkably well until he proceeded to cough and gag violently.

Hermione cast a quick _Anapneo_ to clear his airway, and Snape settled back against his pillows, heaving several deep gasps for air. "You all right, Professor?"

"Y - Yes..."

"Slower, smaller gulps. Your new muscles need time to adapt. Here."

Slicing the roast pork into tiny slivers with her wand, Hermione then picked up a fork on Snape's tray and brought the food to his mouth, earning an aggravated, arched eyebrow. "That...isn't...necessary, Granger," Snape tried to growl without much success.

Giving him a sympathetic look that the professor would have enjoyed hexing right off her face, Hermione leaned in closer. "I told you, Sir, your whole body needs time to adjust. One thing at a time, all right?"

"_No._"

"Professor, I really must insist—"

Without warning, Snape extracted the fork from Hermione's grasp with exceptional speed. Though his hand was trembling, he managed to bring the fork to his mouth and swallow the contents on his own, taking considerable time to chew and stare her down all the while. This time, there was no gagging or coughing, only a mere gruff of annoyance. After several more attempts at using his arm, however, Snape quickly lost his strength and his hand collapsed onto his lap.

"Allow me, Professor," Hermione urged softly, but not before receiving a deathly glare for her efforts.

"I...don't...need your...help!"

"I understand this is all very overwhelming for you, but you're going to—"

"I don't...need you...to feed me...like some...helpless...fool!"

"That's not what I'm trying to—"

"_I'm finished!_"

When Snape tried to throw the fork back onto the tray, he failed miserably, and the utensil bounced onto the floor several feet away. Hermione, however, remained the epitome of calm and collectedness and silently levitated the fork back into her grasp, dosing it with a cleansing charm first before offering the defiant wizard another bite. She expected the man's defiance, that he would prove stubborn and impatient, and he certainly wasn't proving her wrong. She did her best not to let her grievances show.

"It's all right, Professor."

Snape chocked out a breath. "No, it's not!"

"You _must_ eat something or you won't get well."

"I...don't...need you!" he tried to cry more excitedly, but his voice was rough and strangely airy.

"Sir, please," Hermione encouraged, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He nearly flinched from the contact, his eyes widening at yet another close brush with the witch. That touch was distracting, warm, naturally soothing, and something about it was going to drive him mad if he didn't figure it out. "I can force feed you or we can do this the easy way. Now, c'mon..."

After a few more rounds of arguing, Snape finally consented with a stubborn sneer. None of it made any sense.

_She should be cowering from me_, he wanted to scream. _She shouldn't _want_ to help me. Why won't she go? Why can't I be left alone?_

If the insufferable know-it-all acting so sickly noble wasn't enough, she was now feeding him with a silver fork and giving him a pure smile to boot. Severus Snape would willingly take on that blasted snake again and again to avoid such a smile, such a radiant beam of hope, such a revoltingly kind act of charity he neither demanded, nor deserved.

_As soon as I get my strength back..._ Snape thought over and over in his head as the witch continued to feed him by mouth and prattle on without pausing for breath, about what, he cared not._ As soon as I'm well enough to leave this wretched place, I'll make a point of never bumping into Granger, Potter, or any one of these meddlesome creatures ever again, so help me, Merlin!_

* * *

**A/N #2: Snape wouldn't be Snape if he didn't put up a fight.** **Whether or not he'll win the battle is another question... ;) **


	4. Strength and Will

**A/N: _Thank you again for all of your lovely feedback!_ That goes for all you fantastic Guest reviewers, too, whom I can't personally reply to. It _truly_ makes my day to hear what readers are thinking and feeling about my work, whether it's this new story or another one. (Pssst, please keep it up!) :)**

**__****Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny!  
**

**********Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and ****own none of her associated characters. **

* * *

**Chapter 4: Strength and Will**

_**"Our culture has filled our heads but emptied our hearts, stuffed our wallets but starved our wonder. It has fed our thirst for facts but not for meaning or mystery. It produces 'nice' people, not heroes."**_  
**-Peter Kreeft, _Jesus-Shock_**

* * *

Snape's sour attitude in the days that followed didn't improve, leaving Hermione to exercise patience. After all, she could only imagine how terribly lost the man must be feeling, having missed out on an entire year and a half of life, only to wake up and discover everything he had worked so hard for was now null and gone. The last time he had been awake, Hogwarts was under attack and the outcome of the Wizarding world was uncertain. The next thing Snape knew, he had awoken in hospital to a new world, with his many long years of dangerous espionage discarded like one of Weasley Wizards Wheezes' ineffective inventions.

Hermione certainly had her own reasons to seethe, too. Healer Smethwyck had taken the liberty of scampering to the papers to present several less than appropriate statements to _The Daily Prophet_ about the professor's health, informing the curious public that the former Desirable Number One was "awake, alert, and on the mend."

_Hardly!_ Hermione snorted to herself. It wasn't as if the man had bothered to set foot into Snape's room since nearly having his finger bitten off.

Although he didn't breach patient confidentiality, Smethwyck _did_ step over the line. He spoke boisterously of the aggressive treatment methods he had falsely invented to combat the wizard's afflictions, which left Hermione in a bottled up tether of outrage, unable to unleash her rage until within the privacy of her lonely London flat.

Naturally, she hadn't received any credit for overseeing the wizard's care the past several months. That infuriated her enough, particularly as the papers' showcased a repulsive amount of gloating, mainly over Smethwyck's "exceeding patience" in treating such "an uncooperative patient" as Snape. What had the Slytherin ever done to deserve_ that?_

_He barely survived a snake attack!_

Augustus reassured his trainee not to despair, but the newspapers' general ill opinion of Severus Snape was what ultimately set Hermione's blood boiling, more so than her own lack of credit. Smethwyck's unamiable remarks simply didn't help her frustrations, and considering his careful tactic of giving the papers enough juicy gossip to satisfy whilst not breaching patient confidentiality, that left Smethwyck free to continue putting Hermione and the rest of the staff on pins and needles.

"You're taking this awfully personally, you know," Gwendle remarked with raised eyebrows a day or two after Smethwyck broke the news to the_ Prophet._

"I can't help it, Gwendle! You read what they're saying! You saw Smethwyck's remarks! Snape has—what was it?—oh, 'the mindset of an animal, who needs to be carefully re-introduced back into society.' The man just came out of a coma, for Merlin's sake, only to find his entire world turned upside down! It's little wonder he's cross and at odds with everyone. Good grief!"

"I know, Hermione. I understand that; _really_, I do. The poor man has to be overwhelmed. Erm, he _did_ bite Smethwyck, though—"

"The idiot deserved it! You don't go charging into a patient's room and assault him with all sorts of invasive questioning right after he wakes up! Apparently, he was up in the professor's face, and quite aggressive; very unprofessional, Gwendle."

"Yes, you have a point there..."

"Snape was a spy at one time. Anyone who's anyone knows that the man is likely prone to post-traumatic stress and extreme paranoia. That's the very _last_ tactic Smethwyck should've exercised in getting answers! He's lucky Snape didn't get a hold of his wand! Not that I think he could've, given his limited mobility but..."

"You have to admit, it would've been comical to see Smethwyck have the tables turned on him!"

Gwendle burst into lighthearted laughter, and Hermione couldn't help but join in. "Yes, it would! It would be no less than that hot-headed sod deserves!"

"He's really getting out of control. Even Augustus can't reel him in."

"Well, he's going to have to do_ something_ soon, or we're all going to be in trouble. Half the patients are threatening to file complaints against him as it is! He _needs_ to sort himself out."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, zoning in on the back of the Healer's head. Smethwyck stood with his back turned at the Healers' station, riling on a young Mediwitch about something or other, who looked to be on the verge of tears. He slammed a few charts down in front of her and proceeded to make a general ruckus.

"And stay away from my patients who are struggling enough as it is," Hermione added with bite.

Once Smethwyck stalked away out of sight, Hermione and Gwendle made a point of going to the poorly distraught Mediwitch to offer whatever reassurance they could. The emotional girl eventually calmed herself down to return to her rounds, which then allowed Hermione to disappear into Snape's room for a check on how he was fairing.

Hermione frowned when she discovered a copy of said _Prophet_ tightly grasped in the professor's hands. She had no idea how he had gotten his hands on the newspaper, but his acute glowering was obvious and, to Hermione, justified, nevertheless.

Snape shot her a silent look of disdain, either for her or the article, Hermione wasn't sure which, and proceeded to ignore her as she went about her usual business. He didn't bring up Smethwyck's remarks, and Hermione didn't dare touch on the subject herself.

The remainder of that week proved uneventful and without much progress in the wizard's general attitude. Snape retained his crabby temper, with the _Prophet's_ lengthy headline only contributing to his not wanting to accept any of Hermione's help.

Hermione was at least pleased to see Snape making little, though steady, improvements to his health, despite his sour outlook. By the following week, Snape was able to work his throat muscles more thoroughly, as well as eat and swallow on his own. It was exciting to also hear the regaining of some of that deep baritone Hermione remembered well.

"I'm proud of you, Professor!" she exclaimed, after attending to his wounds late one morning. "You're making remarkable strides this week!"

"'Remarkable,'" he snorted under his breath, averting his eyes from hers, which turned downcast.

"Well, it _is_ true, Sir. I know you must be very discouraged right now, but, in all fairness—"

"You don't know how I feel, Granger!" he snapped, trying to recoil from the witch's persistent optimism, though there was nowhere to go. "Don't speak for me!"

"My apologies." Hermione bowed respectfully and cleansed her hands with her wand, which had been covered in the scar ointment she was rubbing on his throat, though it hadn't been accomplished without a great deal of convincing on her part. "I wasn't trying to speak_ for_ you, just trying to offer my understanding."

"Well, you can't possibly understand," he grumbled, "and I don't need you to."

Hermione resented that statement, and it showed on her face when she boldly replied back to him, "I daresay you _do_ need someone to understand, Sir. You're overwhelmed by what's happened to you. I understand that. It's an awful lot to digest, but that's why I'm here to help you."

"I've told you, _I don't need anything from you!_"

"On the contrary, Professor, you're in here for a reason, are you not?"

"I—" Snape abruptly closed his mouth, finding himself both cross and trumped by the question.

Spotting several days-worth of _Daily Prophets_ on his nightstand, Hermione quietly snatched them up, never diverting her steady gaze from her livid patient. "I think we should get rid of these," she whispered, choosing her words with care.

"What? _No!_" Snape snarled and outstretched his hand to take them back. "Give me those, Granger!"

Hermione backed away, however. "I don't think you should be reading these."

"I've just come back to the Wizarding world, you wretched girl!" he snarled in protest. "I have every right to be brought up to speed on what—"

"No, I'm sorry, Sir, but the foul remarks you're reading about yourself in _The Daily Prophet_ won't do anything to aid your recovery. Therefore, I'd prefer you didn't have access to these for the time being."

"What makes you think I give a rat's arse what anyone thinks?"

Hermione had to admit, Snape had a point there. Although he might not have cared, however, Hermione wasn't about to cave so easily.

"_I care_," she challenged with feeling, for the first time raising her voice to him.

A mixture of confusion and surprise passed by Snape's dark eyes before his unhappy sneer resurfaced. "Why, you presumptuous little nag!" Pushing forward against his pillows, Snape gave her a murderous stare down that made her spine shudder. "Where have you been the past several years? Have you grown so thick-headed in my time asleep that you've conveniently forgotten all the things insinuated about me _before_ in that ruddy paper you're holding, Granger? It doesn't matter! And _you_ have no business telling me what I can and cannot read!"

"I... It's not that, Professor. I just think it's unhelpful."

"'Unhelpful'?"

"It's only going to discourage you, even if you claim to not care. It's _not_ going to help."

"Except that one of your own superiors already spoke about me to the_ Prophet_," Snape hissed excitedly. "So, what's the bloody difference?"

Hermione's shoulders caved; he had finally brought it up. "If I had known about that, Sir, I would've discouraged him from doing so..."

"_Bollocks, Granger!_" Snape spat quietly through a clenched jaw.

"It's true, Professor! I'd have tried to put a stop to it had I known,_ honest._ I... I'm terribly sorry..."

Snape's eyebrows angled, the anger momentarily leaving his face to be replaced by befuddlement. "Why are you sorry?"

Hermione bit her lower lip. "Well, I just think your reemergence into the Wizarding world should've been _your_ decision to disclose, not ours." Snape didn't so much as blink, only stared up at Hermione with his piercing black eyes. "I'd venture to guess that, given the opportunity, you would've preferred to make your presence known in your own time, or perhaps not at all."

Finding himself stumped again by the young witch, who was very well correct in her assumptions, Snape fell back against his pillows and muttered in frustration, "There you go again, speaking for me." He added as an afterthought, "In any case, it isn't your fault, Granger."

Taken aback by the less abrasion in his tone, Hermione chanced pressing delicately, "I'm really not trying to speak for you, Sir. I just don't believe reading negative comments about yourself, which aren't true anyhow, when you already have so much on your plate is helpful. Rather, it's a hindrance. Therefore, no more reading _The Daily Prophet_ until I say so."

Ignoring more of Snape's bitter objections, Hermione uttered an incantation under her breath and the newspapers dematerialized, leaving Snape more outraged than ever. His face contorted into an animated fury.

"Why you meddlesome—"

"Professor,_ that_ isn't necessary either. I'm only trying to help you."

"_Why?_" Snape threw up his hands in resignation; he suddenly appeared terribly weak and almost childlike, cradled amongst the pillows that kept his frail-looking body upright, with several heavy blankets that devoured his too-lean form. "Why are you bothering, Granger? _Why?_"

Hermione gave him a puzzled look over. "Because you're my patient, Professor. That's why..."

"I'd rather I wasn't!"

"Please don't say that," she implored him quietly. "I know you're upset, but there's no need to shout—"

"_Just go!_"

"I'm afraid I can't, Sir," Hermione insisted and took a deep breath. "Not until you've taken your tonics here and I run a few more diagnostic tests."

Snape grudgingly crossed his arms over his chest and turned away to scowl at the wall instead of her. To Hermione, he looked sadly small, lost to the misery and discomfort that clearly plagued his mind and body, but she willed herself to carry on with her duties. Snape drank every phial she handed him, though not without inspecting the contents first, and continued to avoid eye contact.

Once Hermione was through checking his vital signs and documenting a few notes into his chart, she offered him the warmest smile she could muster. "I'll leave you to rest a while," she issued softly, to which Snape merely rolled onto his side, facing away from her, and burrowed himself into a cocoon beneath his many blankets. "Is there anything I can get you, Professor? Tea? Something to eat, perhaps?"

"No."

"Would you like another blanket?"

"No."

Hermione frowned. "Very well. I can get you a Dreamless Sleep if you'd like?"

"Granger, _leave me alone_," he replied simply and without malice, which left her concerned. She'd almost take his wrath over such listless compliance.

"Right, sorry, Sir... I'll be back to check on you later."

Snape didn't say anything, the only viewable portion of him being the back of that full head of straggly dark hair. There was something disturbingly resigned in how he lay there, so silent and still, which left Hermione increasingly worried.

With a small sigh, Hermione quietly excused herself, dousing out what little light remained in the room in the hopes that it might help Snape sleep more soundly. If what the Mediwitches had informed her about earlier in the day was true, soft cries could occasionally be heard echoing from the wizard's hospital room, sporadically and mournful-sounding, and Hermione hoped she wouldn't detect them today as she made her rounds to other patients. It was unsurprising to learn that Snape, in all likelihood, experienced frequent nightmares, but hearing them for herself would be an added worry to her ever growing list.

_He's been through enough_, she reflected sadly, and left the room.

* * *

"How are you feeling this morning, Professor?"

Snape didn't answer. He was sitting up in bed, his hands casually lying on top of his thighs as he stared vacantly at the wall. The dark circles underneath his eyes hadn't lessened in recent days, and Hermione felt somewhat perturbed that the man hadn't been moved yet to a place with at least one window and a little more sunlight. She sensed that it might lift his morbid spirits, if only a little.

_I'll have to work on that..._

Her eyes trailed to his nightstand, where a cold breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, and toast sat untouched. His eyelids were heavy, as if he were forcing them to stay open. Hermione inched closer to the bed, eying him over with a critical frown.

"I see you didn't eat your breakfast."

"How observant you are," Snape mumbled, keeping his eyes on the wall opposite his bed.

"Well, you need to eat something, Sir..."

"I shall eat when I wish to eat, Granger, and not before. Now, do your tests and leave me be. I'm tired."

His voice was weary and emotionless, as though resigned to his daily mundane routine of never-ending tests, bed checks, and staring into space or sleeping. Hermione couldn't help but sympathetically grimace at Snape's soft translation of hopelessness, an expression he had been displaying much of since awakening. It was growing steadily worse. Her patient had gone from arguing with her at every whim to silent resignation, not putting much effort at all into his treatment.

"Get on with it, Granger," Snape sniped, his quiet command interrupting Hermione's contemplations.

After running her latest findings, Hermione tossed his chart aside into the air and started to unlock the lid on his scar ointment when he shot her a defensive glare. "No more of that."

"Oh!" She reared back, surprised. "But, Sir, it will help your scars—"

"I'm well aware at this juncture of what it does, Granger. However, you will never be able to naturally rub away my scars, no matter how much of that ruddy junk you smother on me. _Enough._"

Hermione held the container more tightly, searching the man's haggard features imploringly. "Professor, we don't know that for sure—"

"I think you _do_ know, Granger," he answered matter-of-factly. "I once took you for smarts. Unless I've been mistaken, and such treatment has been miraculously discovered in my absence, there is no such scar ointment that can successfully cure what I failed to properly use Dittany to erase in the first place. I'll have to resort to a charm, that is all."

Hermione didn't say anything for a lengthy pause. Finally, she consented quietly and placed the jar back on his tray. Her despondent frown, however, remained intact.

"Will you not give it a try, Professor? Give it some time to develop? I can see the scars fading. They're not nearly as prominent as they once were. Here, let me show you."

Hermione took Snape's chart in hand again and opened it to a page that she then handed to him. Snape silently scanned the moving photographs of his neck wounds, taken at various stages whilst he was still in a comatose state, and read the extensive scribblings beneath each photograph—all undoubtedly Hermione's handwriting. He would remember the Gryffindor's overly excited, thorough note-taking practices anywhere.

The photographs were what truly disturbed him, however. The wounds were unsightly, even grotesque—at least, in the earliest shots taken directly after his entire throat had been reconstructed. Snape swallowed hard, disarmed by how extensive the snake bites were. They had certainly done as they were intended to do: kill him. Brutal and grisly, they were now his cross to bear in life. He hadn't ever set eyes on them himself, for that matter, but seeing moving images of them were unsettling enough.

Snape handed his chart back to Hermione, seemingly unmoved by the contents. His next words surprised her. "I'd like a mirror," he requested softly.

Catching on quick, Hermione didn't question the wizard's demand. With a respectful nod, she _Accio_'d a hand-held mirror into Snape's hand, which he took without a word, his listless eyes boring into his own reflection, focused on the furious slashes across his prominent Adam's apple. The new skin that had grown over top didn't look much better to him than the wounds themselves, wild and discolored as they were, showcasing to all the world how the once powerful wizard had been reduced to being mauled by a the very reptile of his former psychotic master.

Hermione watched intently, concerned with what the professor might be thinking. His expression was blank, however; his unreadable eyes staring intensely at his own wounds for what felt like ages.

_Monster_, his mind repeated. _That's what you are. Nothing's changed._

After an agonizing moment or two, he simply returned the mirror and offered her the same emotionless expression as before. "Are you finished with your tests, Granger?" he asked in a hoarse whisper that shook her to hear.

"I..."

"Very well."

Without another word, Snape shifted carefully onto his side and shut his eyes. Hermione was baffled. Had she made a grave mistake by allowing him to examine himself for the first time? Had she been wrong to show the wizard his progress with those photographs of his scars? She had merely meant to illustrate how much they had reduced over time, certainly not to make the poor fellow feel worse than he undoubtedly already did.

Gulping down her guilt, Hermione placed a warming charm on Snape's food and hovered over his bed. She couldn't see his face, but she knew the man had the reflexes of a cat and wouldn't have fallen asleep so quickly with her still in the room.

"I warmed your breakfast, in case you get hungry. I'll check on you again around lunch time. Sleep well, Professor..."

Snape said nothing in return and his body never moved, even once Hermione shut the door.

* * *

"How are you making out so far with the greasy git? I mean, erm, your patient?"

"Stop it, Ron," Hermione chided through reproachful eyes. "That isn't nice."

"What? Oh, c'mon, 'Mione, he _is_ still a git, you have to admit!"

"Ron's right, 'Mione," Harry additionally chimed in with a handsome grin, pausing to adjust his round glasses. "Don't get me wrong, I have a new respect for the man, but I can't imagine Snape's changed all that much."

"And he's only been awake for two weeks," she cut both of them down swiftly, "so I think we should all cut him a break."

Hermione sighed and took a moment to sip her Butterbeer, and the boys sheepishly followed suit. It was the first time the trio had gathered together in months, a feat that was instigated by the youngest Weasley, who, after visiting Hermione's flat in London, implored her brother to finally have a sit-down with Hermione regarding the blowout at the Burrow. Unsurprisingly, Ron invited Harry to tag along, although Hermione would have gladly done so had Ron not taken the initiative of inviting their friend. It would make for less tension and general awkwardness, or so they both hoped.

After an initially strained greeting between Ron and Hermione, the three settled into each other's company with surprising ease. Ron profusely apologized for being out of touch, claiming wanting to "make nice with Mum," and Hermione was too spent over the matter to argue it anymore. Yes, she was still nursing her hurt, but she found quickly that she missed them both too much to hold a grudge.

_Or you're just lonely_, her conscience grimly reminded her.

Their friendly meeting was eerily reminiscent of old times. Tucked away in their usual booth at the cozy Three Broomsticks, Hermione couldn't recall the last time she had been to the once familiar establishment. _Probably with Ron and Harry_.

"He's not giving you too much grief, is he?" Ron eyed Hermione over with fresh concern. None of them had really wanted to discuss Snape, of all topics, but somehow the wizard crept into the conversation anyhow, again, much like old times. "Erm, I mean, we all know how Snape can be..."

Hermione smiled. "No, he isn't. He can be snippy at times, but that's his nature. And anyway, I'd be irritable too if I'd been virtually forgotten by the entire Wizarding world, particularly after all the sacrifices I made for the Order."

The atmosphere fell quiet to _that_ remark, which Hermione didn't even realize was dripping with a bitterness she hadn't meant to convey. Ron and Harry exchanged awkward glances as their curly-haired friend lazily surveyed her half-consumed drink.

"Does he know what happened?" Harry asked, regaining Hermione's attention. "About the final battle, about the Elder wand, about everything?"

Hermione shook her head. "No... I confess, I'd be happy to fill in the details for him, only he has no interest in talking to me unless it's absolutely necessary. Healer Pye has tried getting him to open up, too, but..."

"Why?" Ron scrunched up his nose, flummoxed. "No offense, 'Mione, but Snape's not the most outgoing chap."

"I know that, Ron."

"And him not wishing to speak to you isn't exactly a surprise either. He never wanted _anything_ to do with _any_ of us, remember?"

"Least of all me," Harry inserted with an understated expression of...something; Hermione wasn't sure what.

"I know, I know." Hermione let out a heavy breath and pushed her Butterbeer away. "I just feel...bad for Snape. It's like I told you—he receives no visitors, he doesn't speak much unless provoked, and he either sleeps the day away or stares at the wall. He hardly eats and doesn't make much effort to get well. I... I'm starting to think he may be depressed."

Ron let out a choked snort. "'Mione, the man was _always_ depressed. Did you never take a good, hard look at him?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "It isn't funny, Ron!"

"I wasn't suggesting that it was, only pointing out the obvious!"

"All right, fine, you have a point there, but I'm interacting with him on a daily basis, and it isn't the same as before."

"He's not..." Harry paused to shift his Butterbeer away as well, looking suddenly a little distressed. "You don't think he might actually, erm, try to off himself, do you?"

Hermione's eyes widened in horror. "_What?_ Merlin, no! No, Harry, I don't think the man's_ that_ far gone! I just..." Hermione slumped her shoulders and fiddled with her hands underneath the table. "I think he's probably feeling a bit lonely is all. Confused, uncertain of what to do with himself now, how to get on with his life, that sort of thing."

"Oh..."

Harry's countenance turned contemplative, but Ron looked visibly uncomfortable. Hermione was hardly surprised. Anything bordering on the topic of feelings, and Ron checked out of the conversation immediately.

_Much like when we were together,_ she mused to herself.

"Well, if there's anyone who could perk the sour git up, it's you, 'Mione." Ron flashed her his witty grin. "Although, it_ is_ Snape, so the cards are already stacked against you, I'm afraid. I don't think that man has genuinely smiled since he was born."

"That may be true," Hermione returned with a warm smile of her own, "but I'm not out to get Snape to smile, though that would admittedly be a nice achievement, if not a tad frightening. I simply want him to recoup and reclaim control of his own life again. He deserves that much."

"A noble gesture," Ron offered, giving her a nod of approval.

Harry concurred by raising his Butterbeer mug to her with a smile. "A very Hermione-like gesture of good will."

"Ha, ha, ha, very cheeky," Hermione mocked with a roll of her eyes. The three chuckled in unison, and, when the moment passed, the trio fell into a strange silence again before Hermione piped up, "In any case, I have an idea in mind that might help get the poor man to focus on the positive, perhaps even engage in conversation."

Harry's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "Such as?"

A pleasant smile drew across Hermione's lips. "Reading."

"Eh?" Ron's brow contorted, causing Hermione to giggle.

"_Books_, Ronald! I'm sure Snape would appreciate having something decent to read to pass the time."

Harry shot her a humorous smirk. "Well, considering you took the _Prophet _away from him, it might be nice of you to offer an alternative."

"But it was for his own good!"

"I know it was." Harry withdrew his own copy of the notorious newspaper from inside his coat pocket and expanded it to its normal size. "Have you seen today's headline?"

"_Again?_" Hermione groaned with dread and leaned forward in her seat, along with Ron, to glance over that morning's headline. She had purposely been avoiding the paper herself on the off chance of stumbling across another unprofessional statement from Smethwyck, or some other unjustified accusation about the professor.

As Hermione eyed the headline in big, bold letters upside down, her heart nearly catapulted into her throat: _Hermione Granger, member of the prized Golden Trio, gives Severus Snape, nefarious Death Eater, the 'kiss' of life._

"_WHAT?_" Hermione's voice rang out. She immediately went beet red and lowered her voice, sensing a few conversations ceasing around them at her outburst. Once the general chatter resumed, Hermione hissed in a low, aggravated tone, "What the hell is _this?_"

"Skeeter," Ron scoffed, eying the paper with a scrunched up face.

"Seems that your superior told the meddlesome wench that you're overseeing his care now," Harry explained, showcasing his own disgust. "It also sounds like, since announcing the news backfired in his face, your Smethwyck no longer wishes to have his name smeared with Snape's."

"So, he's pinning it all on me now," Hermione growled, her golden irises churning furiously behind their depths. "_That despicable tosser!_"

Ron shook his head. "Way to shove you under the Knight Bus. You ought to show him up for that, 'Mione."

"I make a point of _never_ talking to the press, Ron, and I'm certainly not going to start now!" Hermione drew back her shoulders defiantly. "Oh, let Smethwyck make a fool of himself," she snuffed. "After all, I _have_ been the one overseeing Snape's care; might as well get the proper credit for it now." She glanced down at the headline again with a severe frown. "Except for that 'kiss of life' bit..."

Ron waved away the obvious worry laden on Hermione's features. "You know Skeeter; jumps at a crumb of gossip. She probably made it up as soon as she got wind from Smethwyck that Snape had become your patient."

_I guess my threat all those years ago didn't hold_, Hermione churned, grinding her teeth together.

Harry additionally squirmed in his chair. "Erm, there's more that Smethwyck says in here..."

Hermione blinked. "What? How so?"

Before Harry could so much as open his mouth to explain, however, Hermione snatched the paper from his grasp and hurriedly read the article whilst the boys drew back, prepared for the onslaught of the witch's wrath that they knew so well. Sure enough, when she was through reading, the paper had coiled itself into her fists. She wasn't aware that she had also begun trembling from head to toe.

"I should hang Smethwyck up by his toes and levitate a bottle of Odgen's finest Firewhiskey just out of his bloody reach!" she fumed.

Ron beamed from ear to ear. "That's a wicked idea!"

"Erm, should I not have showed it to you?" Harry looked utterly bewildered and unsure.

Once Hermione calmed herself down, she shook her head and took a calculated, deep breath. "No, Harry. I would've stumbled across this eventually, I'm sure. Such utter rubbish!" She tossed the crumpled up newspaper down on the table and placed her chin in her hand. "What else is new?"

* * *

Severus tossed and turned over in bed, wincing at the pain in his lower extremities. He still hadn't gotten much use out of his legs yet, finding it difficult enough to shift in and out of bed to use the loo. He routinely required assistance from one of the Mediwitches, which was enough of an embarrassment, but at least it tended to be at a time when Hermione Granger was on her lunch break or had conveniently left for the evening. If he only had his wand, he could make the trip on his own without having to relinquish what little self control he still had.

_My wand..._

Severus had no idea whatever became of his instrument, one of the many troubles that plagued his mind. After barely managing to claw his way out of the Shrieking Shack and onto the Hogwarts grounds, the details therein turned fuzzy. He recalled fumbling for the Dittany hidden away in his pocket, the anti-venom he had already been administering to himself for some time, the Blood Replenishing Potion...

_But my wand... What the devil became of my wand?_

Severus squeezed his eyes shut, trying unsuccessfully to will himself to remember the murky details; but they wouldn't come. He dreamed of that night often, but beyond his exceedingly clumsy attempts to heal himself beneath the stunned Whomping Willow, Severus couldn't recall much else in great detail.

It had certainly been in his possession before his eyesight grew hazy and everything went black. Someone had come to his rescue that night. How else would he have ended up in this godforsaken ward at St. Mungo's, with freshly grown throat muscles and a foggy, insufficient memory?

_But who?_ Virtually everyone on both sides would have been more than content to see Severus meet his demise. The Potter boy? _No, the Dittany and elixirs wouldn't have left me much time before needing to be taken to hospital._ _Potter would've been too busy, as would his friends._ A staff member? _No, they all despised me in the end, even Minerva._ Lucius? _Perhaps. He had fetched me to go to the Dark Lord that night. A sense of guilt or morbid curiosity might have led him back to see what had became of me..._

Then again, if his old Slytherin pal had given a damn, _wouldn't he have come to see me by now? Unless..._ Severus swallowed the notion that befell him amidst the darkness of his room. _Unless he, Narcissa, and Draco never made it..._

Severus inhaled sharply and tried to relax his face, letting the weight of his head sink comfortably into his pillows. He needed sleep. He yearned for it. Then again, he didn't_ really_ want to rest. Sleep perpetuated dreams, which cycled the nightmares, and the nightmares were a steady stream of horrors he would much rather forget.

Despite such apprehensions looming at the back of his conscience, Severus found himself—between the quietude of his room and his slow, even breaths—drifting further and further into a state of unconsciousness. It wasn't until minutes later, well deep in the throes of a bad dream, that Severus began to thrash his head back and forth, breathing strenuously, even whimpering at times for the nightmares to cease.

How long he remained that way was ambiguous, but when Hermione made her rounds to check on him in the early hours of the morning, she was alarmed at the state to which she found him. Snape was completely entangled in the bed sheets, having kicked the heavier blankets off at some point during the night. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, clutching tightly onto the soft material that was now entirely drenched with his sweat. His head had continued to thrash back and forth all night long, his rough voice mumbling incoherently, groaning and calling out into the darkness.

Hermione was frozen where she stood for a long moment before she could will her legs to move. Quickly shutting the door, she stalked over to the bed and hovered over her patient, unsettled. Pearls of sweat lined what little she could make out of his face, as the rest was hidden behind dampened strands of black hair.

"Professor?" Hermione hitched a breath and tossed Snape's chart aside, summoning a washcloth and a bowl, which she then filled with hot water. "_Professor?_ It's Hermione. Wake up."

She thought she detected a "no" amidst the wizard's disconnected words as he continued to roll his head back and forth, his entire body every so often twitching at whatever horrors were unfurling in his mind. Hermione swiftly sat down on the bed beside him and dabbed at his forehead with the wet cloth.

"Wake up, Sir," she urged him gently, moving the towel around his face, even as he fought her efforts, tossing his head from side to side. "Please? _Snape, wake up._"

"No... No, no... No!"

"Snape, it's Hermione Granger. It's all right now. You're all right. _Please_, wake up."

Suddenly, without warning, Snape let out an alarming cry that shook the room. His eyes shot open and his body propelled forward, met by one of the witch's hands grasping onto his shoulder to hold him in place.

"Easy," she gasped, taken aback by how close Snape's face was to hers. He was staring at her as if she were a ghost, a stranger, something out of this world. His heavy breathing was also tickling her face, and Hermione wasn't aware of how fast her own heart was thrumming.

Carefully, she eased him back down onto the bed as he struggled to catch his breath. "It's all right, Sir. It's all right," Hermione stammered softly. Snape muttered various words under his breath, though his breathing began to calm with the continued dabbing of hot water against his face. "There, there, Professor. It's all right, you're safe."

Snape was vaguely aware of the warm body pressed up against his own. How strange to be so drawn to such contact.

Scanning her wearily, his eyelids soon fell shut, his mind and body exhausted. Something had been remarkably soothing in the witch's voice and touch. _Why was that?_ was the last thought that crossed Snape's mind before he succumbed to sleep.

In the darkness, Hermione let out the breath she wasn't aware of holding in. She had never heard Snape whimper like that before, like a wounded animal suffocating from his own night terrors. It left her unhinged and completely shell shocked, to the point that she couldn't move for a moment or two.

Snape nudged lightly against her hand that held the washcloth, his breathing now steady and regular. Hermione wiped several damp hairs away from his eyes and placed the washcloth gently across his forehead, eying the wizard over attentively and with quiet relief.

"I'll... I'll stay a while, Professor," she found herself whispering, even if the man couldn't hear; or could he?

Hermione was determined not to leave until she was sure the nightmares weren't going to repeat themselves. Placing a warming charm on the cloth, Hermione sat comfortably at Snape's bedside for some time, watching over the wizard as he slept.

* * *

**A/N #2: Lots to digest, I know, but hopefully worth it? More to come...**


	5. Delving Deeper

**A/N: I'm afraid you won't get a compliant, softened Snape anytime soon. Even with only ten chapters, I couldn't bring myself to lessen his bite till the later half of this story, so onward we go! ;)  
**

**__****Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny!  
**

**********Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and ****own none of her associated characters. **

* * *

**Chapter 5: Delving Deeper**

_**"You learn eventually that, while there are no villains, there are no heroes either. And until you make the final discovery that there are only human beings, who are therefore all the more fascinating, you are liable to miss something."**_  
**-Paul Gallico**

* * *

Severus felt slightly disoriented when he awoke later that morning. Something warm, though wet, was pressed to his forehead and, if he dared admit, it felt wonderfully soothing. He didn't want to necessarily remove the cloth, only the water was now trickling down the side of his face and dampening his pillow.

Severus growled irritably. What he wouldn't give to have his ruddy wand back!

Images from hours earlier came flooding back as he made to sit up, only to have to lie down again and catch his breath and wait for the dizzy spell to pass. Severus vaguely recalled being roused at the crack of dawn, right in the midst of one of his nightmares.

At the time, his reaction was met by a familiar female voice. It was comforting rather than grating, gentle and not overbearing. It was that morning that Severus finally connected the voice to the one he had heard over and over whilst burrowed deep inside his inner conscience, locked away for many months with only that voice, that touch, for company. He hadn't, in fact, been alone in that comatose state after all; Hermione Granger had been there with him.

_What on earth..._

Severus quickly removed the cloth and threw it aside on his nightstand. He found himself immensely tormented by these turn of events, having discovered that Hermione Granger had not only been in his mind, talking to him incessantly for the past several months, but she also bore witness to the wizard crying out in his sleep. How utterly debilitating and exposed he felt.

Why did the girl routinely go out of her way to ensure that he ate, rested, or felt relatively sane? Why did_ she_ give a damn about his welfare, particularly when no one else ever had?

That blasted girl—nay, _young woman_—was going to drive Severus positively batty if he didn't get out of this ruddy hospital, and soon. Then again, he was beginning to doubt he might ever break free of such a miserable place.

_C'mon, Severus. It isn't all _that_ bad, and you know it._

Putting that damnable voice and gentle touch aside, Severus knew he wasn't making much progress, hardly finding himself capable of doing the bare minimum on his own. Not only was he physically incapacitated, but he was a prisoner to his own mind and ebbing self doubts.

All Severus could think about since he had awoken—_Aside from bloody Granger!_—was the past; a past the rest of the world had bid adieu long ago, so why the hell couldn't he?

The answer was simple, really, though the reality wasn't: the war efforts had been his entire life for nearly two decades. Now that that war was history, so was he. What his everyday had once consisted of now resulted in trips back and forth to the loo, taking daily potions to strengthen his health, and steady rounds of eating and sleeping.

No wonder his mind had checked out soon after coming back to life.

Severus privately acknowledged that he wasn't, by any accounts, working hard enough to get well. Most of the time, he stared at the four walls of his bleak confinement or slept the day away, not that his dreams were ever worth taking a time out for. Both proved to be wasteful tactics, all in a futile attempt to block out his present, and did nothing for his morbid attitude.

Severus snorted as he considered what his listlessness would likely lead to if he didn't get his life back in order: terminal madness and a permanent residence in St. Mungo's infirmary for the insane.

_You could be Lockheart's next roommate._ Severus shuddered at the thought.

But how to move forward? Although Severus was used to long bouts of isolation, the solitude he experienced nowadays left him nearly as debilitated as Nagini's venom had. He felt dead inside, empty and irrevocably broken. So, why hadn't he died that night?

_Why the hell am I still here?_

Severus grumbled and detected the faint scent of a hot lunch to his left, which suddenly emerged on his nightstand. If Severus had his wand, he would have simply levitated the food and consumed the contents without a struggle. He found himself quite hungry for a change, even if the food in St. Mungo's did less to appeal to his particularly sensitive stomach than Hogwarts ever had.

Severus made to shift his weight closer to the lunch tray when a familiar throttle of pain shot up his right leg. Cursing the air, Severus fell back onto his pillows, discouraged, and was about to try again when the door creaked open and a curly-haired witch popped her head inside, bestowing him with a pleasantly warm greeting.

No one was_ ever_ jolly to see him, so why couldn't she just act normal?

"Good morning, Professor."

"Shouldn't that be 'afternoon' at this juncture?" Snape found himself snarling, despite not really wishing to. Yes, he was already in a black mood, but even _he_ was morbidly aware that he shouldn't be unleashing his resentments on the poor girl—_Woman!_ he reminded himself. Snape ignored Hermione's advancement and tried to reach for his tray a second time.

"I suppose it should be, yes, though it's not quite noon yet."

"Without a window to detect the time of day, Granger, I wouldn't know."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm working on that for you."

Severus paused his pursuit of his food to glare her down through a set of beady eyes. "What?" he questioned, taken aback.

"Another patient should be leaving our ward this afternoon. I should be able to move you to a more comfortable spot shortly. It includes a large window with lots of natural sunlight."

Severus's frown deepened. "I don't need to be moved, Granger."

"I think it would do you good, Professor, which is why I've gone ahead and made the arrangements."

"Quit calling me 'Professor'!" he hissed insistently. "I'm no longer that to you or to anyone else."

Hermione shrugged. "As you wish, Sir."

"That, too!" He lowered his arm in defeat; perhaps he _should_ just go hungry, or spare. He glanced up at Hermione, resigned. "I suppose I have no choice in the matter, do I?"

To his surprise, the young witch shot him a kindhearted smile. "Here, I've got that, Sir— Sorry, I mean, _Snape._"

Hermione made a flick of her wrist with her wand and the tray levitated itself onto the man's lap. Snape grumbled a "thank you" under his breath and wrapped his utensils around his clenched fists. Hermione certainly didn't expect any gratitude, but Snape's sour attitude was becoming more than a tad disconcerting now, not that she suspected he cared what she thought about his behavior either way.

"Would you like me to arrange your pillows for you?"

Unsurprisingly, Snape answered with a resilient "no" and ate without an upward glance in her direction. Hermione set to running a quiet series of diagnostic checks whilst the wizard ate, scribbling notes and trying not to interfere with the man's meal time.

"Might we try that scar treatment today, Prof—Snape?"

Snape collapsed his shoulders with an aggravated sigh. "I've already told you Granger, _no._"

"I still think that, if you gave it some time, the results may surprise you."

Snape gripped his utensils tighter. "You're testing my patience," he forced the words out, keeping his voice level.

"My apologies. I meant no offense."

"You never mean any offense, Granger. You're just meddlesome in all manner of ways."

Hermione stared down at the pallid wizard, unaffected. She wanted to be angry for his persistent snipping and snapping—_After all, it isn't_ my _fault you landed yourself in here, alive!_—but the significant, purple bags beneath Snape's eyes lessened her ire. His general weariness with life mixed with dire sleep deprivation hung over her former professor like a dark cloud, and easily drowned out whatever ill feelings she had.

"Are you feeling better?" she pressed as softly as possible.

Snape stopped mid-bite and pierced her with one of his more infuriated glares. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're implying, Granger. I feel as fine as I ever have since I woke up. No better, no worse."

"I meant since you woke up _this morning_, Snape. You were having a terrible nightmare when I was last in here." Spotting the wet cloth on the nightstand, Hermione vanquished it with her wand, and turned back to see more color effacing Snape's cheeks.

"That's none of your concern, Granger," he answered in a clipped tone, quickly returning to his plate with keen interest.

"I believe it _is_ of my concern. You're my patient. If you're having recurrent nightmares and not sleeping well, then it's my job to administer something that will help you sleep. I can give you a strong Dreamless Sleep that might—"

"That's unnecessary."

Snape resumed eating, leaving Hermione to hold her tongue. Resolving herself to simply take her leave before she discouraged the man further, Hermione turned on her heel to go without another word when Snape abruptly addressed her again.

"Where's my wand?"

Hermione spun around, eying him curiously. "Your wand?"

Snape threw down his knife and fork, annoyed. "Yes, Granger, _my wand._ Where is it?"

"Surely, you're aware that patients' wands aren't permitted in—"

"I'm well aware of the rules, Granger. I will ask you one last time: _where is my wand?_"

Hermione stepped closer, concern now marring her brow. "You don't remember?"

To that confounding question, Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, both agitated and confused. "No, I don't recall, Granger. That is why I'm asking _you._ Is it not here?"

"No..." Hermione cast Snape's chart aside and regarded him sympathetically. "It was broken the night you were attacked."

"Broken?" Snape's heart felt as if it were being squeezed too tightly.

How could he have been so careless? How could his wand have splintered without his remembering so, or even sensing it with the magic that circulated through his very veins?

_You really_ have _weakened, Severus_, he thought in a panic.

"Yes," Hermione continued patiently, "you'd somehow managed to either Disapparate or crawl your way out of the Shrieking Shack. Lucius Malfoy discovered you unconscious beneath the Whomping Willow with your broken wand at your side. Either you had rolled over top of it at some point or..."

Hermione's voice trailed off, leaving Snape to arch an eyebrow. "Or _what_, Granger?" he pressed for an answer, to which her expression grew somber.

"Or someone damaged it..."

Snape's hands momentarily twisted into his bed sheets. His eyes slowly drew away from her to stare at the wall, at nothing in particular.

"I see," was all he returned with, twisting Hermione's stomach to hear.

She had long held suspicions that someone more than likely splintered Snape's wand in two. According to Harry, Lucius Malfoy had reportedly been quite outraged that his friend was rendered defenseless in his near final moments of life, so Hermione didn't suspect the reformed Death Eater of any wrongdoing on that point. He had been concerned for the welfare of his good friend; but _someone else_ wanted to ensure that Severus Snape paid, either as a traitor to the Dark Lord or to Dumbledore. Hermione didn't want to believe it, but it was highly plausible. Whomever might have stumbled upon the professor as he lay dying on the outskirts of Hogwarts that night hadn't bothered to stop and help him or turn his wand over to someone who could. Instead, they destroyed the only tie to the Wizarding world the wizard had left, and then walked away.

Surveying the hardened, though broken, man before her now, Hermione couldn't help but inch closer, despite his brusque attitude. "I'm truly sorry, Snape." She hardly knew what to say that might offer him comfort, but she felt compelled to say _something_. "I wish I knew for sure what happened, if it would help..."

"I don't require your sympathies, Granger," he returned in a curt, albeit strained, manner.

"I - I know you don't."

"And what of the rest?"

"I'm sorry?"

Snape finally titled his head to gaze up at Hermione again, this time without hostility. Instead, she found a twinge of melancholy.

"You said Lucius Malfoy discovered me..."

"Yes?"

Snape seemed to be trying to restrain his emotions behind a tight mask of control. He took a deep breath and pinned her with his colorless, cold eyes.

"What else?"

"You don't remember any of it?"

"No."

For a moment, Hermione contemplated taking a seat at his bedside. She didn't like hovering but suspected he wouldn't appreciate her getting any closer to him than she already was. "Well, this is all based on what Harry's shared with me..." Hermione caught Snape's deeper scowl at the mention of her friend's name but resumed quietly, "Apparently, Mr. Malfoy decided to go looking for you, found you lying unconscious, and took you straight to Madame Pomfrey. She managed to stabilize you, but the damage to your neck was quite severe—too complicated for her healing expertise to handle alone.

"By the time the battle was over, she realized you needed to be transported here, so Harry and...and I...brought you here."

"_You_ brought me here?"

Hermione bit her lower lip nervously. "Yes... I - I learned of what you'd done for Harry, of what you'd done for the Order, for Dumbledore, how you were a spy, and your love for..." Hermione cut herself off and felt her cheeks start to burn at Snape's prickly look and pressed quickly, "So, I accompanied Harry in bringing you here. Your neck needed speedy attention. As it was, you'd lost an awful lot of blood and, according to Madame Pomfrey, you'd been touch and go in the hospital wing. You're very lucky to have made it;_ very_ fortunate."

"I'm not so sure," Snape blurted out without thinking, rattling Hermione where she stood, but he seemed too distracted by his own inner thoughts to take notice.

Snape admittedly couldn't recall any of what had happened after losing consciousness, and his heart was beating faster at the recollection Hermione had shared with him that he had all but forgotten: he had given Potter memories; personal glimpses into his childhood, his friendship with Lily, his switching sides to protect her and then the boy...

_How could you have been so stupid, Severus?_

Snape clenched his jaw and tried to push past the silly girl's obviously enamored impression regarding his unrequited love. It was written all over that open Gryffindor face of hers, and far too easily decipherable.

_Careless Gryffindors._

"And what of Malfoy?" he questioned, keeping his voice steady.

Unaware of Snape's observation, Hermione replied, "He disappeared with his family before the battle was over. He recently escaped Azkaban imprisonment; gave insightful testimony about the Death Eaters, so he was acquitted of all charges."

_Lucky bastard_, Snape wanted to quip but refrained.

"I can contact him, if you'd like?"

Snape blinked, staring up at her wildly. "Whatever for?"

"Oh! I... I just figured maybe you'd like to see him is all?"

"And why is that, Granger?" Snape rounded on her caustically. "Do you think I'm 'terribly' lonely, that I'm desperate for company?"

"No... I..."

"If you're finished, then I'd like to rest."

Snape re-situated his pillows, then rolled over onto his side, turning his back on her entirely. His messy, raven locks were all she could make out, the rest of him buried again beneath a pile of blankets.

"Very well, Snape." Hermione didn't move from her spot next to his bed right away, however. She sighed heavily and retook possession of his chart in her hands. "I'll wake you this afternoon to take your tonics. I'll also see to that new room of yours. Do you have any special requests?"

"No."

"I could lighten it up, perhaps, or maybe—"

"I said _no._"

"All right..."

Hermione went quiet, though she watched Snape for another moment or two, staring attentively at the back of his head. She wasn't sure what was compelling her to keep trying to reach him. Another Healer would have given up ages ago on getting the surly wizard to engage in his recovery, much less an actual conversation, but Hermione wasn't every witch, and Severus Snape certainly wasn't every patient that came her way.

Without giving it much reprimanding thought, Hermione reached out and lightly touched Snape's shoulder, causing his curled up form to flinch and whirl backwards to face her. His eyes were startled when they met hers.

"If you ever want to talk more about what happened while you were in a coma, Snape," Hermione whispered to him, her eyes exceedingly gentle as they searched his, "I'd be happy to fill you in on whatever you'd like to know. I'm sure you desire to be brought up-to-speed on what's happened in your absence. I won't press you, but if you ever want to discuss it at all, all you have to do is ask."

Snape merely stared at her, his eyes maddened and wide, before he blinked and turned away from her again, closing his eyes to the witch. "Please leave me be," he murmured, though it sounded almost mournful to Hermione's ears.

"All right."

The room had gone quiet for a few seconds until Snape's eyes shot open at some tugging and tucking of the blankets at his back. Was the bint actually tucking him in? His initial reaction was to shoot her down immediately and demand that she go at once.

_Merlin, when will this meddlesome creature desist? Then again...  
_

Soon, soft shuffling of feet and the slight creaking of the door informed Severus that he was, once again, alone. The eerie silence that fell upon the room felt suddenly oppressive, especially in light of Hermione Granger's absence. Her voice, her touch...

Severus squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as possible. How much more of this was he to withstand?

_Why, oh why, couldn't I have just died? This would all be far less complicated if I had!  
_

* * *

"Impressive!"

Hermione whirled her head around to find Healer Pye looming in the doorway, scanning her adjustments to the hospital room with a handsome grin of approval. He nodded his head before his animated eyes finally met hers.

"Thanks! I figure some Slytherin green might cheer the man up. Too much?"

"You're asking a Ravenclaw, Hermione," he chuckled. "_Everything_ is too green; but I daresay the professor may come to feel right at home."

"I highly doubt that, but thank you!"

Hermione looked over her work, feeling rather pleased with her efforts. She hardly expected Snape to be all that cheerful about it, but she and her colleagues, minus Smethwyck, appreciated the pains she was taking. She had transformed a larger, now unoccupied hospital room into a bed chamber that she hoped might put Snape more at ease.

Decorating the bedding, décor, and furnishings in emerald greens and cherry woods, Hermione thought the place echoed of Slytherin House and might very well be close to what the professor once had at Hogwarts. Not that she allowed her mind to dawdle on what Snape's personal chambers might have resembled, only that it was decked in Slytherin green, cozy, and befitting of her patient. A large window parallel to the bed let in lots of natural light, though Hermione had purposely lowered the noise level outside so that it wouldn't disturb Snape's rest.

_Let's hope some sunlight may do him some good_, Hermione reflected, giggling a little at the idea. It was worth a shot.

* * *

Severus scowled as the realization that he wasn't in familiar territory. Taking a moment to cover a deep-filled yawn behind the blankets that were drawn up to his face, Severus squinted at the light that poured in from a large window to his left, letting out a disgruntled sigh at where he found himself.

"Impertinent bint," he grouched under his breath and attempted to sit up, only to fall back against his pillows. He was far weaker, even after nearly three weeks of bed rest, than he knew he ought to be.

Tired, black eyes briefly swept their new quarters. A Slytherin green and dark woods met his sight, but it felt surprisingly..._pleasant_, if Severus dared admit it to himself. Hermione had clearly taken several liberties with the furnishings, of which there were aplenty, and there was even a rug on the floor and the outline of a fake fireplace along the opposite wall.

"What the..."

Resigned to not move just yet, Severus rolled onto his side to face the open window, his ears alerting to the sounds of a busy Muggle London street below. The witch had thought of everything, even placing a muffling charm so that the noise wouldn't grate his nerves, a small gesture of thoughtfulness Severus couldn't help but gnaw on.

Bundling the covers more securely around himself, Severus closed his eyes in a failed attempt to drown out his thoughts. He wanted to be angry—infuriated, even—with his former student, who seemed determined to interfere with his everyday life. Not that it consisted of much,_ but all the same!_

Severus sighed and burrowed his face in his pillow. He felt knackered, winded, exhausted with everything. And sleep seemed like such an easy escape when he was awake, only, once asleep, Severus relented how consciousness was probably a better alternative after all.

He had no idea what time it was or when he had been moved—Hermione had been conspicuous, he could give her that—but time never had mattered during his insomnia-prone days as a double agent, so sleeping in the middle of the day was hardly cause for concern. Not to him, anyway.

Severus's heavy eyelids closed, and it didn't take long for his mind to drift—to drag him into the past as it always did. Time had been so different then. Back then, he had been constantly aware of its count down over his shoulder—like a ticking clock whose batteries were winding down, the hands ready to stop and mark his death at long last. He remembered it well in his dreams.

_Severus crawled against uneven floorboards, scuffing his hands and choking, fighting and gasping for breath with something gripped firmly in his hand: his wand. He closed his eyes and tried to gather his magic. He needed to get out. He needed to get help, somehow._

_'I can't die here... No... Not like this, not like this...'_

_Severus's crumbled, blood-soaked body contorted. Then, with a loud _pop_, the ailing wizard materialized beneath the Whomping Willow. His eyes shot open, panic-stricken at how the body could be so viciously manhandled whilst in the midst of Disapparation, and he was certainly in no fit shape for it. More to the point, the thick branches of the Whomping Willow were curling backward, ready to crush his already severely damaged form._

_'Wand!' his mind screamed fleetingly. _

_Severus quickly raised his arm to stun the enraged tree when horror struck him like a blow to the head. Of course. He couldn't speak. He had tried to, but instead found himself coughing up more blood. An unpleasant gurgling sound followed. _

_'Not good...'_

_Severus willed his mind to open and stunned the tree wordlessly, but the panic within was still bubbling below the surface and starting to manifest tenfold. He had to get help... But who? Who on earth would help him now? He had no friends, only enemies on both sides. Even his old pal, Lucius, had never fully trusted him and kept his distance; or, rather, Severus had kept himself away—from everyone. In the end, it served him poorly._

_'You're going to die here...'_

_The Dittany wasn't working. He had managed to block out the pain, but, without being able to utter various incantations and without the ability to see his wounds properly, Severus had doused the liquid onto his neck and cried—inwardly—at the scorching pain that shook him from head to toe. He wanted to howl like an animal and would have if he still had any use of his vocal cords. _

_Severus had no idea how ineffective the Dittany had proven, nor the Blood Replenish he had swallowed almost immediately after the trio abandoned him to his end. Yes, they had all thought he was dead and walked away, not even giving him a backward glance..._

_'What the hell did you expect, Severus? The boy hated you! Consider yourself fortunate if he does look at that bloody phial after all!'_

_Severus tried to raise himself but easily fell back against cool, uneven grass. He could vaguely hear the rumbles and cries of battlement not far off. They echoed like drums in the distance—a soldier's march towards his ruin—that drifted away on the evening breeze, the wind drowning out the fighting, the cries of pain, the shrieks for help. Despite the shrill noises, however, it was eerily quiet where Severus lay, stretched out beneath the stars and the blazing red and orange flames he could vaguely make out at the edge of his peripheral vision. _

_'Yes... You_ will _die here, Severus... There's nothing for it...'_

_The alarming dread caving in on his chest and mind was settling. The blood that flowed through his veins rushed like water towards a calming stream. The echoes of doom from the distant castle seemed small and insignificant now, as if their only purpose served to serenade him into a deep and endless slumber._

_Severus couldn't see. The lines in front of him were fuzzy and misshapen. He found himself wanting to close his eyes, no longer able to fight off the inevitable. He would accept death. It wasn't so bad, actually. It was remarkably painless and tranquil; not all that terrifying as he had longed imagined it would be..._

_"Severus!"_

_Severus's eyes flickered, though drowsy. He vaguely heard the male voice call to him several times. Someone crouched down before him and touched his shoulder, his arms, his soak-filled chest. _

_"Severus! Can you hear me?"_

_'Go away,' he wanted to snap but lacked the capacity. He shut his eyes to drown out the man's urgent cries of distress._

_"Damn it, man, hang on! I'm going to get you to Madame Pomfrey! Hang on, Severus!"_

_Severus could hardly feel himself being levitated away. His entire body had gone numb from the venom. He was moments away from death. The smell of decaying flesh and dried blood was palpable to his senses; or was it his imagination? It didn't matter. He couldn't really think about anything anymore..._

_"What on earth happened?"_

_"The - The Dark Lord... I - I think Nagini attacked him—"_

_"And why should I help him? Or you, for that matter?"_

_"Please, Poppy! I – I know I can't save face, but my son—"_

_"Your son and his lot have behaved just as poorly as you, Lucius! And Severus here—"_

_"I'm not convinced he was ever on the side of the Death Eaters. I never was."_

_"Yes, well, neither was I, until he killed Albus!"_

_"Poppy—"_

_"How do I know as soon as I fix him you want just hex me in the back?"_

_"All my wife and I want to do is find Draco and get out of here! We're not out to hurt anyone, Poppy, I swear it. I wouldn't dream of it—"_

_"That's a miraculous change of heart, Lucius! Who do you take me for?"_

_"A Mediwitch of compassion, that's what!"_

_"Oh, that's some nerve coming from _you_!"_

_"Please, Poppy, Severus, he... He's one of the few friends I've got. The Dark Lord wouldn't have attacked him unless he had some ulterior motive!"_

_"The Dark Lord thinks nothing of the lives he takes! Haven't you learned that by now, Lucius? As I understand it, you've been an avid member of that psychopath's inner circle!"_

_"Yes, I was! But Severus was never suspected of being anything less than a loyal servant! Something's happened here, Poppy; something the Dark Lord discovered or... It's the only explanation! And anyway, only my sister-in-law and I never trusted him. I think he's been on your side all along, Poppy..."_

_"Be that as it may, you haven't been here at the school, living under his dictatorship this past year, Lucius! I knew Severus very well at one point, but that man is gone." A choking sound followed that bitter remark._

_"Poppy, I'm begging you! Please, for the love of Merlin, can't you do something?"_

_"I... I don't know... These wounds are deep, and he's lost a lot of blood—"_

_"Is he... Am I too late?"_

_"I don't know, Lucius. He's not responsive."_

_"Can I count on you to try? If not, Poppy, tell me now!"_

_"I..."_

_"Poppy, did you ever consider that maybe Severus's reign here was all an act?"_

_"An act?"_

_"Yes... The Severus you know—that I knew as well—that wasn't him this past year... I've thought so even longer than that, but I've been entirely alone in my suspicions. Even Cissy thought I was mad for thinking Severus might not be the man we all took him for."_

_"I..."_

_"Will you help him, Poppy? If so, I... I'm in your debt."_

_"I don't want you owing me any favors, Lucius!"_

_"Then I'd consider it a great act of charity."_

_"I... Well..."_

_"Yes?"_

_"Oh, very well! I'll see what I can do, but I can't make any promises, Lucius. Severus's neck wounds are the most severe I've seen—"_

_"If you can't do something, will you..."_

_"...Yes, Lucius. I'll see that Severus gets transferred to St. Mungo's, if what I try doesn't work. I just hope I'm not making a grave mistake..."_

_"Thank you, Poppy! Thank you! I have to find my wife and my son, but thank you!"_

_"Lucius?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"You say Severus is your friend, but that you never trusted him. So, why help him now?"_

_"First off, I do, believe it not, have a moral center, Poppy. Secondly..."_

_"Yes?"_

_"He kept my son safe. He took an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco last year when he was tasked with killing the Headmaster."_

_"_What_?"_

_"You heard me."_

_"Oh..."_

_"Needless to say, I think I owe the man for keeping my son safe. He could have very well not given a damn, but he... He didn't. He didn't abandon Draco. He took care of my family. I owe him this much."_

_"I see..."_

_"I must go!" _

_"Lucius!"_

_"Yes?"_

_"I... I believe I saw Draco with two of his friends heading towards the West side of the castle not ten minutes ago."_

_"Oh! Thank you, Poppy!"_

_"You're welcome, Lucius..." A short pause later. "Oh, I do hope I'm not making a mistake with you, Severus. Figures that I can only tell you when you're unconscious that I've had my suspicions about you all along. I daresay if you would've confided in me, I might have been more than happy to listen as a... As a friend, as a colleague... I daresay a lot of us would, even Minerva. I'll... I'll see what I can do to help you. Hang on."_

Severus awoke with a start, his heart thumping furiously against his chest. And he wasn't alone. Someone else was in the room and quite close, speaking in a gentle register that was distinctly female, that somehow—miraculously—immediately calmed his anxieties and willed him to re-close his eyes. Light dabbing to his sweat-laden forehead further subdued his nerves, causing his body to go slack against the twisted bed sheets.

A sweet-tasting liquid was pressed to his mouth, which he swallowed without question, followed by soft incantations that fluttered around his ears, casting further echoes of calmness in their wake. Before long, Severus was relaxed, covered in warm, fresh blankets and the sweat all over him dispelled, leaving his form appropriately snug and cocooned. He wanted to move, to sit up in bed and speak to the witch in the room with him, but he could feel his limbs sinking into the divine comforter, his head burrowing into the plush pillows cradling his head, and before he could so much as issue a "thank you," he was fast sleep again; and this time, no nightmares or buried details from his past forced their way into his mind. Instead, Severus remained sedated, floating in a dreamless sleep, for the first time in ages.

* * *

**A/N #2: You'll hear more about that memory in a chapter or two yet to come!** **We're dealing with quite a few different puzzle pieces in this story, but you'll get answers, I promise. ;)**


	6. Similar Interests At Heart

**A/N: My apologies for taking so long to update. I've been really sick the past couple of days and am trying to get in to see a specialist but am currently on a waiting list. It took me far too long to look through this to ensure that it was post-worthy, so I'm afraid any lingering errors will have to be fixed at a later date. Your feedback perks me up to receive, though, _so please keep it coming, if you would._ It means _an awful lot _to hear your feedback and gets me by in times like these... **

**__****Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny!  
**

**********Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and ****own none of her associated characters.**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Similar Interests At Heart**

_**"To be heroic may mean nothing more than this then, to stand in the face of the status quo, in the face of an easy collapse into the madness of an increasingly chaotic world and represent another way."**_  
**-Mike Alsford, _Heroes and Villains_**

* * *

Hermione situated herself in a sofa chair at Snape's side. It wasn't the first time she had walked in on the wizard in the midst of a nightmare and suspected it wouldn't be the last. Having administered a Dreamless Sleep hours ago, Hermione knew her patient would be fine to sleep by himself, but, for her own peace of mind, she wasn't going to leave for the evening without confirming that all was well with him first. Thus, she returned to the man's room once her rounds were through.

Hermione had been rendered speechless when the professor proved quick to calm at her ministrations. She had expected him to be cross, to argue at length, or to, at the very least, struggle against her and prove all-around difficult as humanly possible, but, ultimately, he hadn't proved combative.

Was he even aware that she had touched him? When his eyes shot open, disoriented and confused, Hermione had begun speaking in a soft, low whisper, brushing his shoulder or his arm and dabbing at his forehead with a warm, wet washcloth. And he didn't act at all perturbed by the intrusion, nor at being touched and cared for. It was as though he subconsciously yearned for such contact, to be thought of...

_Something he hasn't received nearly all his life..._

It took only minutes for Snape to settle down and fall back into a deep, undisturbed slumber. Hermione had her suspicions that the poor man wasn't resting well enough, particularly if his nightmares were as traumatic as the selections she had witnessed.

Hermione took the liberty of gathering a few books from her flat during her lunch hour in the hopes that reading might entice the surly wizard out of his recluse. _Certainly, it beats staring at the wall for hours on end!_ she concluded without further analysis, and might hopefully give the wizard a reprieve from the dark, unsettling thoughts that obviously plagued his every waking moment in hospital.

Snape didn't have to illustrate his depression aloud to anyone; it practically screamed at Hermione every time she entered his room. She would have to address such tendencies with her patient at some point, she knew, and wasn't looking forward to breaching _that_ sensitive topic. A heavily guarded Snape wouldn't take kindly to discussing his emotions.

_Not very Slytherin-like_, Hermione reflected with a small smile as she made her way back to her ward.

Now, situated at the sleeping professor's bedside, Hermione had an agonizing urge not to leave him. Snape was clearly no longer in any distress, and she would have been fine to go and allow one of the Mediwitches on staff to take over, but instead Hermione sucked in a breath and opened one of the books she had placed on Snape's nightstand earlier that day. It was no use calling it a night yet; she felt compelled to stay put.

Hermione flipped through the pages of the Potions text in her hands, which she had recently purchased from Flourish and Blotts, using the book partly as a means of distracting her guilty conscious. The nightmares she had watched Snape go through wore heavily on her heart, reminding her of how they might have been prevented had he had an easier life. _There's still time to change that_, she reminded herself.

The Potions text she brought with her to work had only been published six months ago and, therefore, would contain material Snape hadn't yet read, so she thought it might be a good place to start. The man required some sort of stirring back to life, perhaps even a sense of purpose again. Hermione could only hope the book might entice Snape to become more actively involved in his treatment.

_It might lessen his guilt-ridden sentiments about surviving the war, too_, Hermione had considered when she picked out the book in the shop over the weekend.

"Believe it or not, Professor, you survived for a reason," she found herself whispering aloud, leaning in close to examine Snape's relaxed features.

The softer aspects of Snape's face were, as Hermione discovered months earlier, only decipherable when he was at rest. Aside from a selection of deeply set wrinkles along his mouth and forehead, the rest of the professor's face was shockingly serene, even gentle, when in the throes of a dream world. Hermione hadn't realized how the man's mouth was always slightly ajar when he slept—a rather comical and endearing gesture Hermione knew the man would _never_ have appreciated her noting—or that, when terribly knackered, Snape had a tendency to snore noisily for someone who was normally as silent as the grave.

Humoring herself while she could, Hermione adjusted the blankets near Snape's throat, making sure that he was warm and secure. Her eyes momentarily zoned in on the merciless snake bites, however, and lingered for some time on the torn, darkened flesh. She may have examined them countless times before, but they were never an easy sight to take in.

_If only he'd allow me to attend to those wounds again..._

Hermione frowned, disappointed, and resumed her reading. A couple hours later saw the Dreamless Sleep wearing off, but not to Hermione's immediate awareness. She had just gotten to her feet to re-tuck the blankets around Snape's curled up form when he unexpectedly tossed his head in sleep and awoke with a start, his breathing catching at the back of his throat. Emotionless, black eyes met shimmering brown and, for a split second that seemed to stretch out for an eternity, both locked eyes on one another, until Hermione hastily swallowed and stepped back out of the man's personal sphere, a blush surfacing on her cheeks.

"What are you doing?" Snape strained to speak, still quite drowsy.

"I - I was just..."

"Tucking me in?" he intoned with that same brutal sarcasm he had always boasted, as well as that trademark sneer; Snape didn't move, only stared up at her as if his retinas were going to burn straight through her flesh.

Hermione tried to ignore the flush she could sense trickling up her neck. She immediately reared off the awkward situation by forcing a smile.

"How are you feeling this evening?"

As if unable to keep up the angry pretense, Snape's hard expression washed away, replaced by an exhaustion he couldn't disguise. He didn't acknowledge her question but, instead, rolled his head sideways and closed his red-rimmed eyelids, groaning in protest.

"No more..."

Hermione chanced a step closer and leaned over him carefully. "Snape?"

"Dreamless Sleep..." he mumbled. "You meddlesome..."

"You required it. Those nightmares of yours need to be better monitored from now on."

"No...nightmare..."

"I'm sorry?"

"Wasn't..."

"Wasn't what?"

"Damn it, Granger," he spat, though still sluggish in tone. He forced his eyes half way open. "Could you at least...give me something...to wear off the bloody effects...of this potion?"

Hermione found herself suppressing a shrill of giggles behind her hand but made sure to turn away from the grumpy wizard as she did so. She suspected that he had to be glaring knives into the back of her head, though, no matter how worn down he may feel. She summoned an Awakening potion and brought the phial to his lips, encouraging him to swallow the contents. He reluctantly accepted her assistance but continued eying her over with displeasure.

"There you go. It will take a minute or two—"

"I'm well aware of the timing effects of an Awakening potion, Granger."

"Oh, right, of course. My apologies."

Hermione patiently waited for Snape to slowly sit upright, not even asking to assist in propping his pillows behind his head. Though he grimaced at her efforts, he said surprisingly little. In the midst of her fussing, Hermione caught a glimpse of the Dark Mark on Snape's left arm and froze in place. Though it was now faded and dull, it was still as prominent as ever against the former spy's pale, almost bluish-tinted complexion. An uneasy feeling churned Hermione's stomach at first sight of the Mark, recalling all that it had once represented—bigotry for her kind amongst its most hateful messages. It had been nearly two years since she had last seen that eerie skull with the tongue of a serpent up close, and she wasn't even aware that she had all but stopped breathing, making her attention to his arm painfully obvious.

"It might put your mind at ease if you didn't stare."

"Oh!"

Hermione's cheeks suddenly burned with color. Snape was staring up at her through narrowed eyes, waiting for her to suspend her wandering gaze. Hermione stammered some incoherent rubbish that she knew the professor wouldn't buy and went to pick up the Potions text she had set aside.

Having resettled himself comfortably by then, Snape kept the blankets drawn up to his chest, with his left arm hidden away from view, and, though she had already done a handful of diagnostic tests, Hermione muttered an excuse of needing to do more.

"I'm sorry, Snape," she confessed quietly after the awkward silence became too great. She set her focus on information formulating from her healing spells rather than meeting the man's harsh glare. "That was rude of me. It's just been a very long time since I've seen one. I meant no offense."

"I'm hardly concerned," Snape snipped coolly, his eyes drifting away from her towards the door.

"Well, I do apologize, regardless."

"Isn't it a little late, Granger?"

"I don't follow."

Snape rolled his eyes. "_Late_ to be checking in on me. Do you work the nightshift as well? Am I to receive your presence around the clock?"

Hermione found herself tittering again, despite the jab at her expense, and she ignored Snape's expression of surprise that followed. He arched an eyebrow.

"No, Snape."

"Then why are you here?"

"Actually, I came to bring you this."

Hermione shoved her wand back into her coat pocket and nodded to the thick, mustard yellow book covering she cradled under one arm. Snape gazed at her as if she had sprouted a Grindylow atop her head of massive, spiraling curls.

"A book?" Eying her with evident suspicion, he asked, "Whatever for?"

"To pass the time. I think you might find it rather informative."

"_Oh?_"

Continuing to ignore his impatience, Hermione turned over the cover to showcase the title. "It's a new text; published roughly six months ago. There's a lot in here about the various shortcomings on anti-venom that I'd appreciate your input on."

"What? Why?"

"Why not?" she challenged as casually as possible. "Your expertise could prove most useful to our Potion-making Department, as well as to your own individualized treatment."

"I'm hardly fit to practice, Granger."

"I know that, Snape; but the imparting of your knowledge would be most appreciated."

"Why not figure out a better solution yourself?" he returned quietly, causing her to stiffen where she stood. "Or have all my years of teaching been wasted on you as well?"

"No, Snape, not at all, but, well, you... Suffice it say, you're the best Potion-maker I know..."

A silence befell them both at her compliment. She had certainly meant it sincerely, but Snape merely scowled in return, finally breaking eye contact and looking away towards the wall. If he was moved or appreciated her sentiments, he didn't show it.

"Leave it then," was all he could manage.

Hermione gave a respectful nod and propped the book down on the wizard's nightstand. "Can I get you anything?" Truth be told, she wasn't overly enthusiastic about leaving just yet, especially with Snape acting the way that he was: withdrawn—again—and silent as could be.

"No." Aware that he was being abominably rude, Snape issued a deep breath through flared nostrils and softened his gaze, turning to her with less severity than before. "I'm fine, Granger. You don't have to linger. I'll read it. Please go."

"Very well. I'll have the Mediwitch come in later this evening to administer another Dreamless Sleep for you to get through the night. Have a good night, Snape."

Offering him another encouraging smile, Hermione turned on her heel and left the room. It wasn't much of an exchange, _but it's a start._ Hermione hoped the reading material would prove useful for both their sakes. Snape hadn't demanded that she keep it, even going so far as to agreeing to read the book without much quarreling. _A positive sign._

Hermione grinned to herself as she made her way out onto the bustling streets of Muggle London in pursuit of a discrete alleyway from which to Disapparate home.

* * *

Severus mulled over things aplenty in the days that followed. Merlin knew he had plenty of time to spare and analyze and extract various conclusions, none of which made much sense. However, he still felt as if he were drifting through a fog, unable to see or think as clearly as he once had. As a double agent, his mind had always been sharp, focused, undistracted.

_Damn it all!_

He hated taking Dreamless Sleep, even though it did it's share of keeping the nightmares at bay; he wouldn't make the know-it-all of St. Mungo's privy to its positive effects, however. She had proved her point, yes, but she wouldn't receive a pat on the back for it.

_Even if she_ is _being unfailing kind to me..._

Passing the time by reading was proving a stimulating exercise, both for his brain but also for staying awake long enough to take in the day. Severus found himself caught up in the Potions text Hermione had presented him with, mainly because most of it was such utter nonsense. The hot-headed prat who wrote the damn thing, a wizard Severus had never heard of—in and of itself unusual, seeing as he was a member of the Potions-making League—gloated of new techniques that "would leave an amateur with an overheated cauldron," amongst its list of many blunders.

By the second day of absorbing said material, Snape requested parchment and a quill from one of the Mediwitches to organize his thoughts more congruently and also to attack the "daft halfwit" for all of his errors. _He_ could have written a much better Potions text than this utter rubbish.

Hermione was pleased at the professor's captured interest in the book and found it difficult to hold back her curiosity every time she checked in on him, only to find Snape scribbling furiously and not so much as peering up at her when she entered. She never asked outright to see his notes but encouraged him to let her know of anything useful he found that might aid in his own treatment.

There were times Hermione walked in on the professor with his nose buried behind the thick textbook, his limp, dark locks hanging forward like a curtain to conceal the transfixed, black eyes that so hungrily consumed what captured his undivided attention. It was the most engaged expression he had shown since awakening, and Hermione forced back one of several smiles, going about her business in her usual-like chipper. The change that was morphing in Snape's demeanor wasn't lively, but there was a spark again in those once cold, emotionless eyes that came and went like a flickering flame. To her, it was encouraging and hopeful.

Other unexpected occurrences, however, forced Hermione to reconsider the man's progress altogether. When the Mediwitches started informing her that her patient no longer asked for their assistance when needing a trip to the loo or to bathe, it was one of several flags that shot up for Hermione. She took it upon herself to brave the topic with him one morning during her usual rounds to his bedside.

"You aren't strong enough yet to walk on your own, you know," she reprimanded when the topic was breached.

"I can manage twenty steps to the loo and back on my own, Granger."

"No, I'm afraid you can't. Not yet. Would you like to bathe this evening?"

If Snape hadn't possessed any color in his cheeks, he certainly did now, and nearly choked on his bite of an egg sandwich. "What?" He recovered and tried to snarl irritably, though his efforts only earned him a shake of his Healer's head.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, Snape. I'll be by at the end of my rounds to help you."

Snape was either too humiliated for a comeback or too stunned to argue; Hermione suspected the latter but dashed out of the room to avoid another undesired row. To his utter embarrassment, Hermione showed up at the end of her shift as promised, with her usual cheerful disposition to match that did nothing for his growing anxieties and discomfort with the whole affair.

"All right then," she greeted brightly, approaching his bedside as usual, "let's see you walk."

Snape's arms were crossed over his chest. "Are you here just to patronize me, Granger?"

His question rattled her. "No, of course not."

"Then leave me be."

"Oh, no, you aren't going to get off that easy."

"_Easy?_" he hissed.

At his edgy response, Hermione fought back laughter. "I'm here to help, Snape. Now, let's see you walk then. I don't mind you trying as long as I'm nearby to watch."

Uttering a low, defeated growl, Snape carefully eased himself out of bed, knowing the witch would merely stand and stare at him for the rest of the night if he didn't move. Taking considerable time to make the few steps necessary to reach the loo attached to his room, Snape never looked Hermione in the face.

By the time he reached the sink, Snape was winded and wheezy, not to mention agitated more than ever. "This is most unreasonable!" he tried to snarl but was too short of breath to possess much bite.

"No, it isn't, Snape. Now, have a seat," Hermione instructed, pointing towards the toilet seat, "and I'll run your bath."

"I can take it from here, Granger."

Hermione caught the flicker of panic in the man's eyes and bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. _Bad idea, Hermione._ It would certainly send the wrong message.

"Oh, no, you won't." Hermione filled the claw foot bathtub with hot water and soap suds in a matter of seconds with a flick of her wand. Snape, however, sat by in silence, save for his labored breathing, inwardly stewing at the humiliation that awaited him. "I'll excuse myself while you undress, but you aren't strong enough yet to bathe alone."

"So cast a cleansing charm!" he barked, his ears turning red and his voice on the verge of desperation.

"I figured you'd rather have a _real_ bath for a change. You must be craving for it by now, Snape. I would be."

Snape said nothing but crossed his arms defiantly and scowled at the opposite wall. Hermione took that as her cue to leave and quietly exited the room, listening intently to the wizard shuffling about in the loo on his own. She suspected it wasn't smart to leave him by himself, even for a spare minute or two, but continuing to make the wizard uncomfortable wasn't her style either.

Once she heard movement from the bathwater, Hermione finally spoke up. "Are you decent?"

"What do _you_ think?" he retorted, which made Hermione smile to herself before reentering the loo, only for her simper to slump into a frown.

Snape was turned away in the hot bath, his raven hair dripping and brushed back from his face, though she couldn't see his expression due to one hand masking it from view. Hermione could make out a few alarmingly deep slashes on the man's back and tried to ignore them as she drew closer. Although she couldn't see anything below the sheer amount of soap suds in the bath water, it was obvious that the professor had drawn himself into a fetal position.

"Snape?" Hermione softly pressed, approaching him with a worried frown.

"What?" he snapped.

"Are you all right?"

"_What do you think, Granger?_"

Hermione swallowed as she crouched down to stare at the back of his head. "There's no need for that," she tried to reassure him gently.

Snape shifted in the tub but kept his face covered. He didn't say anything snarky in return, which Hermione thought unusual, though he did sigh heavily and pull his knees closer to his chest. Hermione had prepped for the man to give her a rough go of this, but even _she_ hadn't been prepared for Snape to react so stricken over being bathed. A deep sense of guilt swept over her.

"It's all right, Snape." Lost for words, Hermione doused a washcloth into the bath and soaked the excess water out. "You'll feel better in a few minutes, I promise."

"Want to bet?" she barely heard him snip under his breath, refusing to move from his coiled position.

Silent but determined, Hermione began rubbing the washcloth over Snape's exposed back and shoulders, and his pale skin was soon covered in soap suds. She had seen the various cuts before, but up close as she was now, with the professor fully aware of being scrutinized, Hermione's stomach twisted into knots. She was hardly surprised at how wirily thin he was, though it slightly sickened her. The protruding convex of his spine and the visibility of the sides of his ribcage were apparent and somewhat disturbing. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if it was another form of punishment—denying himself food as an additional act of penance for his sins—and she secretly despised it, particularly in _this _moment when she was visibly subjected to how underweight he was.

Snape tensed at the steady, circular motions Hermione made, mindful of how she moved the washcloth over his back, arms, and even around his romp. He swiftly shrunk away from her touch when she did so, but the witch merely paused to give him time to adjust to being touched before continuing with her gentle ministrations. She finally had to request that Snape roll over onto his back so that she could finish washing him. He did so, but hesitantly, and allowed Hermione to then work over his bare chest and the torn flesh around his throat. His jaw tightened when Hermione circled the washcloth around that sensitive area, his dark eyes intently focused on the ceiling.

_How utterly humiliating_, his rigid body language practically shouted at her, and for which she did her best to ignore.

As Hermione grazed the washcloth down his stomach, Snape hastily snatched it from her grasp. "I can manage from here," he insisted through gritted teeth, causing Hermione to jerk and rear back.

"If you insist."

Hermione decidedly made herself busy with gathering towels and a bathrobe for him, and by the time she had folded and laid them on top of the toliet seat, Snape was grunting and peering up at her with a look of shame plastered across his features.

"Yes?"

"I..." his mouth clamped. "I can't reach my feet..."

To this, Hermione offered a delicate smile and wordlessly took the washcloth in hand again, reaching one of her hands into the tub. Seated on the ledge of the bath, she carefully extracted one of Snape's legs from the water and cradled the heel of his foot in one hand. With the other, she massaged the washcloth over the balls of his foot and up between each long toe. Then Hermione did the same to the opposite foot, entirely mindless of the befuddled expression Snape was giving her as he watched. The Healer-in-training was completely absorbed in her duties, and seemed to think nothing of what she was doing.

_Why?_ Snape wanted to ask but lacked the capacity to speak. He dared not admit that her techniques were working wonders, her kneading easing much of the tension.

"There," Hermione whispered once she was through. "Feel a little better now?"

"I..."

"You should."

It took Snape a moment to mutter a resounding "Yes," which broadened Hermione's smile. That was until Snape insisted on drying himself off alone.

"I'm not entirely incapacitated, Granger."

"And what if you slip?"

"I won't."

Hermione did her best not to snort. "Highly unlikely. You're still shaky and unsteady on your feet. Here."

Hermione held out a towel with both arms and turned her head away, stifling more laughter when she detected the wizard grumbing in defeat and attempting to stand. Breathing hard through flared nostrils, Snape hissed to regain Hermione's attention after a moment, and she nearly skittered backwards when her eyes were met by a pair of darker, much angrier ones. A soaked, highly cross Snape stood in front of her, stark naked save for her conveniently placed towel that hid his midsection.

Hermione brushed up against Snape when she made to wrap the towel around his thin, dripping waist. She could feel the man's breath on her neck, mindful of the slippery, though pleasant, feeling of his wet, pallid skin against her hands. She was slightly alarmed, however, by the sharp protrusion of the man's exposed hip bones and frowned, grateful that her head was lowered so that he couldn't see.

"You need to eat more," she whispered, her tone touched with sadness; she didn't have to gaze up at Snape to know his eyes were practically staring into the top of her curly head. "You're terribly thin..."

"You're only now exercising that observance?"

Ignoring his short-temper, Hermione simply shook her head. "No, I'm only saying so because you _do_ need to eat more. I think it's something you need to hear."

"Is that so?"

Hermione finally peered up into his harsh gaze, her caramel eyes laden with sympathy and concern; she no longer cared if he noticed and was perturbed. "Yes." Her short, though delicate, response set Snape on edge, and he swallowed whatever brisk remark was on the tip of his tongue.

"And why is that?" he pressed in a rough-sounding voice.

"Because you clearly don't take care of yourself. Someone else needs to pay attention, for your own benefit."

Snape blinked a few times, his eyes never darting away from hers. "I've managed on my own just fine for a long time, Granger."

"Yes, I know... Though I daresay you did a pretty poor job of it."

Surprised by her frankness, Snape's shock glistened for only a second or two before being replaced by the abrasive mask Hermione knew so well. "Still as ill-attentive with your mouth as ever, Granger," he said, to which Hermione shot him a wry smile that stunned him further.

"_You're_ one to talk, Snape. Now, hang on to me."

"What?"

Snape only understood Hermione's instruction once she was kneeled down in front of him, using a second towel to dry his muscularly-defined calves and boney feet. One of his hands fisted into a net of her curls in an attempt to keep from falling over, particularly once she lifted each leg off of the ground to pat the balls of his feet. Her hands worked meticulously over his slightly down-covered legs and, the few times her fingers made contact with his feet, they wiggled free, causing her to giggle, amused.

"Are you ticklish, Snape?"

"Very funny, Granger," he snipped, agitated and embarrassed.

Finally, Hermione stood up and wove a fuzzy bathrobe around the professor's frail frame, trying her best to ignore, again, how sickly skinny Snape was beneath the black frock coat and long robes he had worn for years to conceal what Hermione had never known. That outfit had certainly served its purpose, keeping everyone at an arm's length, disguising the wizard's physical struggles and emotional suffering. Hermione couldn't help but grimace as she led him away from the loo at last.

"Come, let's get you back into bed, Snape."

Snape made no objection, though he clearly disliked having to rely on the young witch to help him walk, and, unsurprisingly, turned down her proposal that she levitate him instead. Once seated on the edge of his bed, and after taking considerable time to catch his breath, Hermione dressed the dark-haired wizard in an unattractive hospital gown and eased him back into bed, making sure that he was covered by several blankets.

Hermione wasn't really aware of tucking him in anymore—it was a nature of habit by now—and Snape blatantly gawked at her whilst she busied making him comfortable. It was only once Hermione pulled the blankets up around his neck that their eyes locked on one another's, and her breath stalled at the sheer intensity of his gaze. He seemed to be searching her face for something; something that would ease his confusion and help him make sense of her generosity and patience.

"Why are you helping me?" he finally questioned her after a period of uncomfortable silence.

Hermione found herself breathless. "I..." she began, before shutting her mouth. Snape merely waited, his mysterious eyes continuing to examine her own. "Because you _need_ help, Snape, and that's my job."

"No..."

"I'm sorry?"

"_Why_ are you helping me, Granger?"

It wasn't abrasively asked or hostile in nature; it was a fairly simple question, actually, but one Hermione found herself struggling to answer. It was clear from his peculiar expression that Snape didn't understand her at all, that he couldn't fathom why she—or anyone, for that matter—would take the painstaking time she was to see to his needs. It almost made her sick to her stomach to become fully mindful of how little Snape expected of others.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione broke eye contact to lay a hand on the man's shoulder. This time, there was no recoiling, no flinching, no retraction to her touch. If anything, he inhaled sharply, but that was all.

"Because I see value in you, Snape," she stated very softly, re-looking him squarely in the eyes and holding his gaze, "and I intend to help you see what I see..."

Snape blinked. _How?_ He wanted to question her intentions, to tell her that her attention was all wrong, but something was holding him back. Her words echoed in his ears. 'Value.' She thought him worthy. _How?_ And then there was that smile of hers, so warm and understanding. _How is this possible?_

"I'll have a Mediwitch come in shortly to administer your Dreamless Sleep," Snape vaguely heard Hermione say, too debilitated to speak or move, even as she drew away from him at last. "You rest now. I'll see you in the morning."

Snape watched Hermione drift away out of sight, smiling at him sweetly over her shoulder as she took her leave. Why didn't he want her to go? For whatever reason, that night Snape didn't want the meddlesome witch to leave his side, and that left him more troubled than he had felt in ages.

* * *

"So, are your tactics working so far with Snape?"

"Yes, I daresay they are. Although..."

"What, Hermione?"

"Nothing. Never mind, Gin."

"Oh, don't try that with me. Out with it!"

"No, on second thoughts, I shouldn't disclose anything. It would be unprofessional of me."

"Oh... All right."

"No offense, Gin."

"None taken."

Hermione and Ginny took a moment to sip their Butterbeers, soaking in the warm, cozy atmosphere of The Three Broomsticks, which was now filled to the brim with students, all out on another excursion to Hogsmeade, where Hermione had agreed to meet her girlfriends.

Luna was twirling her hair in hand, not acting particularly interested in the conversation for the past five minutes or so, when she suddenly blurted out unexpectedly, "Did he say something? Something that alarmed you?"

Hermione tactfully put down her Butterbeer. "Yes, he did."

"Something about why you were helping him?"

Hermione's eyes flashed, taken aback by Luna's spot on commentary like always. "Yes, he did..."

"I figured as much."

"Erm, how did you figure that, Luna?" Ginny inquired, eying their friend curiously.

Luna, however, shrugged and tossed her blond locks over one shoulder. "If I was Snape, and I was reclusive and uncooperative as he can be, I'd question Hermione's every intention a great deal. That's only natural when you've lived a life of solitude, constantly looking over your shoulder, as he has."

"Wait... Intention?" Hermione squirmed in her chair. "What are you getting at, Luna?"

"I wasn't insinuating anything, Hermione," she replied indifferently, giving her friend a dreamy, distracted sort of smile. "Unless, of course, you _do_, in fact, like him."

"_Like him?_" Hermione's eyes went wide as saucers, as did Ginny's.

"Yes, like you wish to get to know him better, perhaps be friends, or something of the like."

"'Something of the like'?" Ginny repeated, now looking a tad worried. "Luna, what _are_ you trying to say, exactly? That Hermione has the hots for Professor Snape?"

Ginny choked on her Butterbeer as soon as the words escaped her mouth and Hermione reached out and smacked her ginger friend's shoulder, wanting nothing more than to hide her reddened face behind her tall, half-consumed glass. She wanted to seep into the floor and disappear even more when Luna replied in return, "That's exactly what I mean."

* * *

**A/N #2: Apparently, I can't count. There are _eleven_ chapters in all, not ten, so hopefully that's a good thing. I will do my best to update relatively soon. Please feel free to leave something in the review box. It would make my day...**


	7. A New Kind of Motivator

**A/N: Oh, my goodness! Thank you so much for your feedback on the last chapter, but also for all of the lovely well wishes! They've meant so much to receive, _truly!_ Things are going a little easier today and I have an appointment with my doctor next week, so (hopefully!) all should go back to normal soon. **

**More "emotional wrestling" in this chapter. I _did_ warn that their attraction wouldn't come easy...  
**

**__****Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny!  
**

**********Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and ****own none of her associated characters.**

* * *

**Chapter 7: A New Kind of Motivator**

_**"Men have to have heroes, but no man can ever be as big as the need, and so a legend grows around a grain of truth, like a pearl."**_  
**-Peter S. Beagle, _The Last Unicorn_**

* * *

Hermione didn't care to think on whatever ludicrous dribble Luna was spewing over drinks in Hogsmeade. As a matter of fact, she was determined to forget about their conversation altogether. She had practically run from the restaurant, giving some poorly concocted excuse about "forgetting to feed Crooks" and needing "to get back to her flat without a moment to spare." Ginny, of course, had scoffed at Luna's commentary, calling it "barking mad" and squealing with laughter at the lunacy of it all, whilst Luna remained unaffectedly nonchalant.

Hermione, meanwhile, had been bereft of words, even more so after taking her leave. She desperately wanted—_needed_—to get away; as far away from what Luna had insinuated as possible.

Interested in Severus Snape? The grumpy, exceedingly prideful Potions Master? Her former _teacher?_

"Codswallop!" Hermione kicked the snow at her feet, as if the act might somehow relieve her anxiety, or frustration, or whatever confounding, hell-bent feelings were now mapping their way through her veins like boiling water, ready to tip the brim.

_He's surly, miserable, and depressed. I sympathize with him, yes, and I think he deserves far more emotional support than he's gotten in life, but interested in him like_ that_? NO! Since when is the simple act of caring for another individual automatically assumed to be amorous?_

Hermione huffed as she reached the entrance to her building and heavily trudged up the stairs to her flat rather than Apparating, grateful for the silence that reached her ears once she entered, save for the soft meowing of her furry familiar at her feet. The silence didn't last long, however. Her thoughts were far too loud to be put to rest.

Cranking the radiator up several notches, as well as lighting the hearth with her wand, Hermione changed into an oversized jumper before snuggling up with Crooks in front of the fireplace. _A book will set my mind to rights_, she decided and tore into her newest finding and closest within reach, a book entitled _Healing Alternatives for Poisonous Bites._

The first sentence brought her efforts to a screeching halt, though. Venom. Snakes. _Bugger all!_

The book landed on her coffee table with a tremendous thud, earning a haughty hiss from Crooks, who hopped off of his mistress's lap and scampered out of the room with his tail high in the air. "Oh, all right, _fine!_" she snapped at the priggish cat, as if the feline could speak through the thin walls that separated them. "Be that way!"

Hermione summoned a woolen blanket her mother had knitted for her the previous Christmas and buried herself up to her neck with it, giving up on reading fairly quickly. Instead, she stared into the hypnotic flames dancing about in the hearth. She was soon mesmerized by the bright colors and the flashing sparkles of light, but they didn't lessen the angst-ridden thoughts playing out in her tormented mind.

Could it be that what she had thought was an innocent gesture of goodwill was, in actuality, something more? Something _much_ more?

_No... It couldn't be..._

Could it be that she had allowed that ruddy article in _The Daily Prophet_—the one with the headliner that informed the public that she had given Snape the 'kiss of life'—to go to her head and thereby let her imagination run wild?

_That's foolish!_ Hermione's mind protested. Besides, she wasn't exactly prone to such a fantasies._ At least, not in the past..._

There was also the manner in which Snape had gazed at her before she left after seeing to his bath, his eyes filled with such longing, if only for the briefest moment. As if the wizard actually—dare she even think it?—_wanted_ her to stay. Unless it was all some deeply misunderstood interpretation on Hermione's part...

_It wouldn't be the first time, you know_, she snorted to herself.

Perhaps she _was_ reading too much into things. After all, Severus Snape _had_ to be lonely, even for a man as reclusive as he. For a wizard who seemingly spent most of his life avoiding people in place of solitude, Hermione wasn't surprised to find him ill at ease in her presence, and perhaps _that_ accounted for the peculiar exchanges passing between them as of late?

It was merely one aspect of the mysterious man's life Hermione hadn't quite pieced together: his isolation. As often as she had managed to escape into her books, Hermione still longed for a connection with those around her. Missing Harry's and Ron's constant companionship nowadays was a testament to just how greatly she yearned for company, even if it was two rowdy, immature boys—now young men—whom she could barely relate to anymore.

_Then again, I never really did._

The years between then and now hadn't miraculously altered things where her friendships were concerned, or even brought the three of them closer in the aftermath of war, for that matter, and yet, Hermione's own loneliness was a part of what drew her to helping the professor in the first place. But that was all...wasn't it?

_Yes, it _must_ be. Luna's completely out of her mind this time!_

Hermione bundled the blanket more securely around herself. _You imagined Snape wanting you there, Hermione_, she tried to convince herself, scowling before the fireplace. _Stop drawing silly conclusions. The man hates everyone, including you. Help him. That's your job; but that's the extent of it!_

Hermione buried herself as far into the back of the sofa as she could and willfully shut her eyes, determined to block out the emotionally-charged day she had had, as well as the persisting thoughts regarding a certain dark wizard that now assaulted her brain. She had simply overreacted to Luna's remarks and internalized them tenfold, she told herself,_ just like you always do, Hermione Granger!_

* * *

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Do forgive the impertinence of my inquiry. Seeing as I haven't spoken to the wizard in question in well over a year, I'm writing to inquire as to whether or not your patient, Severus Snape, my one-time very dear friend, might be granted the right to a visitor in the near future? I have been awaiting his awakening with great anticipation. I would have called upon him sooner, but I saw very little value in visiting a man still lying in a coma, who wouldn't know I was there. What purpose would that have served? I'm sure you can understand my untimely response._

_As I'm sure you've also managed to put together, Severus and I go back many years—all the way to Hogwarts. I was, of course, the one to have found him that night beneath the Whomping Willow, and saw that he received proper care from the school's Mediwitch, Madame Pomfrey, who can vouch for my genuine concern of Severus's well-being._

_I only learned recently, through less-than-reliable sources, that Severus is awake and on the mend. I hope the circulations on that score, which have been making _The Daily Prophet_, are true? If so, I would very much like permission to see him. I trust he hasn't received many visitors throughout his extensive stay in hospital._

_I gather that you are of sound mind, Miss Granger, and wouldn't object to Severus receiving his likely first (and perhaps only) visitor, now that he's fully conscious?_

_If I've somehow been misinformed, and you are not overseeing the care of one Severus Snape, if you would be so kind as to direct my owl to the proper authority in this matter, than I would be most obliged._

_I await your prompt response._

_Respectfully,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Hermione did a double take after finishing her read through of the Malfoy patriarch's letter. Meanwhile, Gwendle looked on, smirking at her fellow trainee from the opposite side of the Healers' station.

"Looks like Mr. Malfoy has had a rather large slice of humble pie, wouldn't you say?" she suggested through a baiting smile. "That's about the most diplomatic owl from an ex-Death Eater I've ever seen!"

Hermione's smile broadened. "Perhaps you're right." _And Snape deserves some answers at long last._

* * *

"Snape?"

"What is it?" he mumbled over his hot breakfast, whilst Hermione sat next to his bed, holding the wizard's chart in hand. He had been quieter than usual the past few days, though Hermione suspected it had something to do with the bath she had given him, but she certainly wasn't about to bring it up again. Instead of focusing on Luna's remarks, either, Hermione tried to leap back into her routine at full speed, focusing as much as she could on Snape's recovery and not any...peculiar feelings that kept creeping to the surface when she least expected them.

"I received a letter recently from someone... Someone who wishes to pay you a visit."

Snape paused chewing his food long enough to arch an eyebrow, waiting. "Who?" he inquired curiously, the slightest glimmer of skepticism marking his dark eyes.

"Lucius Malfoy."

Snape's face turned a shade whiter. He immediately put down his fork and pushed his hovering tray away.

"Did he give a reason?"

Hermione cocked her head to one side. "Only that he was a 'one-time good friend' of yours and wants to see how you're doing."

"Don't be clever, Granger," Snape warned, though not all that abrasively; he quickly sighed away his lament at snapping at her and carded his fingers through his long, limp hair.

Hermione wasn't fazed by his temper but did press him softly, "Does he need a reason to visit you? He _did_ save your life, didn't he?"

"I'm well-aware of that most illuminating fact, Granger, thank you."

"I think he's been waiting for you to wake up so that he could come see you. I'd imagine it was guilt that kept him away for so long."

"Oh, so you're now an expert on the true motives of ex-Death Eaters, are you?"

"No," Hermione willed herself to remain unmoved by his pretense. "I was merely commenting on the fact that Mr. Malfoy, judging from the tenor of his owl, feels remorseful for not visiting you sooner..."

If Snape was annoyed with her commentary, he let it slide and raised one black eyebrow instead. "Is he allowed to visit me?"

To this, Hermione perked up. "That's up to you. I have no objections to your receiving company."

A muscle in Snape's jaw tightened. "Very well, then. He may come."

"Would you like to respond to his owl, or shall I?"

Hermione placed the letter on his nightstand for him to read at his own leisure and Snape glanced at it out of the corner of his eye, a semblance of indifference fixed on his face. "You may answer, if you wish," he replied matter-of-factly and then resumed his breakfast.

"I'll notify him this afternoon then." Hermione twirled around to take her leave when Snape abruptly called her back, causing the witch to spin again on her heel and eye him curiously. "Yes?"

"The anti-venom..."

Hermione's ears alerted to this change in direction; it was a conversation she had been hanging on, ever since she presented Snape with the Potions text weeks ago. He hadn't offered up much to her since, but Hermione was hopeful that he would come around in his own time, delicately aware that she was pushing the stubborn man enough as it was.

"Have you found something that may be of help to us?"

Snape regarded her contemplatively before answering with a slight nod. "Yes, I think I have, though not from that ruddy, useless book of yours."

Hermione cracked an amused smile. It wasn't surprising to hear the wizard's misgivings about the Potions book, but she was quite pleased to see evidence of a more engaged patient for a change, even if he_ was _being snarky.

Snape re-fluffed the pillows behind his back and gazed at Hermione through sharper eyes. "Is the Potions Department employing the latest brewing techniques outlined in this bloody text?"

Hermione's eyes trailed to the hefty tome Snape had carefully extracted into his lap. "A few of them, yes; mainly the latest antibodies—"

"The latest antibodies won't do me any favors, I can assure you of that. Those attacked by other types of snakes might find your Potions Department's methods less detrimental, but they could most certainly be improved upon from_ this_ utter rubbish." He gave a dismissive hiss towards the text in question, as though it were somehow alive and had personally offended him.

Hermione goaded him to continue with an encouraging nod. "Go on."

Without a word, Snape quietly handed her several pieces of parchment that had apparently been stuffed into the book for bookmarking and thorough note-taking. Hermione gratefully accepted the papers and examined them as much as she could for the time being, though she was momentarily distracted by her former professor's elegant cursive—_I'd forgotten his handwriting was rather lovely, even if his feedback was harsh_, she mused to herself—but Snape's meticulous instructions, mainly for substitute ingredients and improved-upon steps in the brewing process for several healing potions, were impressive to behold.

Most importantly, however, it was a highly positive step in her patient's healing that Hermione found most welcoming of all. "Thank you," she expressed appreciatively. "I will make sure this gets handed over to the Potions Department as soon as possible."

Snape seemed to silently approve of the young Healer-in-training's plans and spoke up, "There's something else as well..."

Hermione took a step closer. "Yes?"

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose before his voice took on that same professional air he had used for years as her instructor, "Nagini was obviously a very _unique_ snake. She wasn't ordinary by any standards of the imagination. Her particular venom alone sustained the Dark Lord until his body could take its proper form again, if you may recall..."

"Yes, I do."

"Did you use the same anti-venom administered to Arthur Weasley on me?"

"Yes, I did. Well, that is to say _Healer Smethwyck_ did, of course, when you first arrived here."

"And does any of the anti-venom remain?"

Hermione slumped her shoulders and gave the professor an almost shamefaced look. "I'm afraid not. Smethwyck used the last of it on you and has never authorized for a spare."

A snort of disdain met that revelation. "Daft fool," he muttered under his breath. "I'm not surprised."

Hermione proceeded to bite her lower lip, understanding full well that she might be treading on unwanted territory. "Were you the Potion-maker who brewed the anti-venom for Mr. Weasley?"

A curious flash danced across Snape's colorless eyes. "And what if I am?"

"There's nothing wrong with it, Snape. I've only wondered if it was you."

With a burdensome sigh, Snape replied, "Fine, if you _must_ know to satisfy your incessant curiosity, Granger, _yes_, it was I who brewed the anti-venom. Needless to say, the ingredients were scarce, and it took me quite a great deal of care to make; very time consuming."

"I see..."

Hermione's heart beat a little faster at the idea formulating in her mind. When she had first arrived to train at St. Mungo's, she had inquired as to why there was no spare phial of Nagini's specific anti-venom on hand. Her innocent question, however, was met by hostility from her superior, Smethwyck.

"Nagini's gone, you foolish girl! Of what benefit would having a spare be to anyone _now?_"

"Erm, for further research, perhaps?" Hermione had politely suggested at the time.

Was that so hard to believe? Having battled for her life in a gruesome war not too long ago, exercising on the side of caution hadn't seemed as ridiculous a notion to her as evidently it was to her boss. Apparently, her thoughts were shared by the Potions Department, as well as Healer Pye, but Smethwyck held the upper hand on that score, and no spare was ever acquired.

"You know, I thought a recreation of Nagini's venom might serve us well for research purposes," Hermione found herself explaining to her patient, "so I'd been hoping to work with the Potions Department in reproducing the venom to examine it in conjunction to similar bites, but, I'm afraid, we were at a disadvantage from the start. Smethwyck never approved of my research efforts and quickly put a stop to them."

The harsh outlines around Snape's mouth grew deeper as he stared fixedly ahead at the opposite wall. "What were his reasons for halting your efforts, apart from his belief in its lack of value, if I might ask?"

"He didn't think it possible, for starters." Hermione wrapped her arms around Snape's chart and clutched it tighter to her chest. "He thought I was a fool for even attempting it. There's also the fact that Nagini's venom..."

"Contains Dark Magic," Snape finished for her, his low voice cold and unfeeling.

Hermione swallowed. "Well, yes... I don't think I could ever get authorization to perform Dark Magic on _anything_, even something as small as a harmless phial, for the mere purpose of medical research." Hermione found herself laughing nervously, either at the idea as a whole, or Snape's unwavering gaze, she wasn't sure. "Which is why," she prattled on, "I've been looking forward to hearing your expertise on some Potion-making alternatives in general. We're in need of a fresh pair of eyes to see what improvements could be made to many of our healing draughts."

"'Expertise,'" Snape snuffed quietly, apparently displeased with such a term being applied to his person.

Hermione didn't hesitate to inform him wizard that "it _was_ true," to which Snape regarded her in a slightly less derided manner. Hermione stepped closer, her hunger to pursue the avenue before them growing by the second. "What do you think?"

"About the research?" Snape shrugged, dampening his former student's excitement a little bit. "It's of no consequence to me one way or the other, Granger. It _is_, perhaps, a consummate act on your part," he stated with more civility, which stunned Hermione to the quick—_Was that an actual compliment?_ she found herself pondering—even as he added, "but I have no interest in quarreling further with your conceited, halfwit of a boss."

"Oh."

Hermione could fully understand the dark wizard's reservations on that point and didn't even attempt to argue. She took a slow breath, willing her initial excitement to wane.

"If you think of anything, Snape—anything else that might aid our Potions Department—either now or in the future, don't hesitate to let me know, won't you?"

There was a long silence that followed Hermione's hopeful remark, as Snape evidently mulled over her prospect in a manner she hadn't noted in him before. His face had grown thoughtful—calm, even—though the black eyes remained distant.

"As you wish," he softly replied.

"We could _really_ use someone with your extensive knowledge and skill," Hermione prodded with more urgency, not willing to let the opportunity rest. "We have so many healing tonics in development that could use with someone's advice; a Potion-maker who might be able to steer some of our less skilled brewers in the right direction."

Snape's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "Are you trying to recruit me, Granger?"

"Erm, no, not exactly... But it might be _good_ for you, and for us, of course, if you'd partake in looking a few over for us?"

"I'm in no condition to practice—"

"I can bring phials to you to take a look at. That shouldn't be a problem."

Perhaps Snape was unaffected by her pressing him, but the Gryffindor in the room couldn't have made her enthusiasm any more clear. _She wouldn't have lasted a day in my House_, Severus reflected with a bit of inner humor, though he remained decidedly tight-lipped on that, as well as everything else for the moment.

Hermione read his silence as a stamp of approval and offered him a pleasant smile. "I'll speak to Healer Pye and see if I can get it all arranged."

"And pray, tell, what am I to do exactly?"

Hermione giggled, unaffected by Snape's freshly perplexed look. "You can write down your findings and conclusions, whatever they may be."

Snape curled his upper lip defiantly. "And what if I don't want to?" he challenged, forcing Hermione to throw him a daring look he hadn't anticipated. It was rather endearing, actually.

"Would you like another book, perhaps? Or several?" The silence that followed her question spoke volumes, and, as a triumphant smile curled the edges of her lips, a sneer crept across Snape's.

"Are you threatening to take away the single book _you've_ lent me if I won't help your Potion-makers do _their_ bloody jobs?"

"Of course I am!" Hermione found herself teasing, rather captivated by the color that suddenly brightened Snape's gaunt cheeks. "As you've painstakingly reminded me many a time, Snape, subtly doesn't suit me."

"_Oh?_"

"Mmm." Hermione had to press down on her lower lip to keep from losing her composure. "Well, I'll let you rest a while. Get some sleep."

_That's about as engaging as he's ever been_, she reflected victoriously as she left, being sure to document so in the wizard's chart. _I think he just may be coming back to life... _

As for Snape, he privately wasn't as disturbed by such turn of events as he had led the witch to believe. He would have been satisfied, in fact, to go on bantering with her for some time more and had to bite back his tongue when she turned on her heel to go, finding a sudden want to request that she not leave so soon.

No matter how much the Gryffindor could aggravate his nerves, there were so many other factors in play that still confounded Snape and made him want to draw nearer. She made him..._feel._ Feel so many mixed emotions and tingling sensations. There was a comforting warmness that surrounded her and then, of course, how she actually made him feel thought of and cared for._  
_

_What the hell is happening to you, Severus?_

* * *

Severus pondered the situation; or, rather, the _person_ that had been tormenting his mind for what seemed like ages.

Scrunching his pillow beneath his neck whilst turning onto his side, Severus stared out the window in the hopes of drowning out his thoughts, now so deafening he would have sworn he was screaming them aloud if he didn't have his wits about him.

Night had fallen hours ago, but a strong winter gust howled against his window, lessening his tantalizing, silent deliberations, but only marginally. All he wanted was to forget, to cast her out of his mind, at least for a few hours and whilst she wasn't in his room.

_Son of a..._

Severus pinched his eyes closed and took several slow, deep breaths. That Hermione Granger _was_ going to drive him barking mad, he was certain of it now. Tonight, if no other night before, was visible proof of the extent to which she consumed his every thought. She didn't have to be present anymore to invade his person.

How drastically things had changed. Not too long ago, Severus had been far too depressed to think of much else except remembering to eat and relieve himself. Ever since Hermione had presented him with that blasted tome, persisted with his treatments, and bathed, fed and engaged him in conversation, all thoughts had somehow shifted...to _her._

Was it because he had been subjected to her steady, regular company these last seven or eight weeks that she wouldn't leave his wretched mind alone, even after she left for the day? Was it because he had been utterly humiliated at her glimpsing him stark naked and at her mercy not too long ago? Was it that perfectly arresting smile of hers, that delicate lavender perfume she wore that he could always detect when she drew close to him, or the ease that seemed to magically penetrate his room whenever she entered? And her touch...

_Merlin, why can't you stop, Severus?_

Severus squeezed his eyes tighter—not that forcing his eyes closed would drown the image of her from his mind. Hermione Granger cared about him too much; that much was becoming clear. Whatever this growing attachment was, it didn't make sense to his sound mind.

For one, as a Healer-in-training with innocent enough intentions, she was paying him far too frequent visits, taking painstaking care with his flaring temper and unpredictable mood swings, and, once finally confronted about her disconcerting interest, the young witch had spewed him the _most ridiculous, senseless, selfless words_ he never expected to hear.

'Because I see value in you yet, Snape, and I intend to help you see what I see...'

_And what exactly was_ that _supposed to mean?_

Severus snarled aloud. Those words had been ringing in his ears for days.

Broken promises, perpetual lies, and deprived joys had plagued his life for far too long, so much so that it was difficult to grasp words that were unmistakably pure and heartfelt. The cold and the heartless whom Snape brushed shoulders with in his old world taught him an immeasurable life lesson: never trust anyone.

_Not even her. And yet, she's good, in all manner of things._

Hermione Granger was certainly of a different caliber than those Severus used to rub elbows with. He could smell a tosser from miles away. Life had borne him too many encounters with the insincere, the cruelest of tongues, the nastiest of abusers, and yet, he found himself befuddled when it came to dissecting the intentions of a bright former student of his? _Damn it all, Severus!_ he cursed himself.

He couldn't find any hint of foul play in Hermione's intentions, only in her unwarranted attention towards him, which, to him, wasn't deserved. She was, to his utter bewilderment, wholly genuine in her thoughtfulness, yet wise enough to know the difference between the truth and the mask he wore.

_But she shouldn't care. She couldn't care about me. _Why_?_

In an instant, Severus remembered how those eyes had lit up at the prospect of receiving his advice and suggestions for the Potions Department. No one _ever_ desired his input or expertise unless it served their own self interests. The want of Severus's aid at Hogwarts had been purely out of necessity, not fancy. No one tossed out compliments to him at a whim, for that matter, and actually _meant_ what they said. Not kindhearted words that weren't, in actuality, contrived and smothered with disingenuousness. Dumbledore had been quite fond of playing to Severus's emotions to serve his own interests, after all, though Severus wasn't fooled. He knew the Headmaster was playing to his love for Lily and not sincere at all in what the former spy endured for him on a daily basis, so long as it served the 'greater good.'

_But her..._

Hermione Granger. How different she was to the likes of...anyone, really. She had grown up, even if she was, to him, _still as Gryffindor as ever._ Her inner musings might as well be written across her forehead, the sentiments she wore permanently engraved on her sleeves. Yet, she was surprisingly soft-spoken, at least when it came to her bedside manners, her gestures were exceedingly gentle and calming to his nerves, even when she actually egged him on, and, as far as Severus was concerned, she was too compassionate for everything she and her friends had gone through.

At such a tender young age, to be thrown into the throes of battle and personal sacrifice at the hands of maniacs, Hermione Granger should have been as glacial as a sheet of ice; brittle, prickly...

_Like me_, Severus snorted, ill-humored by the comparison.

Severus begrudgingly turned over in bed to face the wall. One of the Mediwitches would be along shortly to administer his Dreamless Sleep, but Severus's brain was too preoccupied for rest. Then again, this tossing and turning and attempting to ward off feelings attached to a certain young witch were becoming a bit of a nuisance. Once Hermione finally left his quarters for her last round of the day, the over analyzing in the dark wizard's hospital room began. He would dissect her true motives if it damn near killed him, only to find none.

_Because she shouldn't be sincere; she shouldn't give a damn!_ his mind kept trying to ward off what was growing in his heart.

Severus's eyes shot open at the abrupt creaking of his door, wherein loomed a skittish, middle-aged Mediwitch. She approached the bed with caution, as though she half-expected the grim former Death Eater to sit up and strike her dead with a mere glare. Normally, Severus would have relished whatever amusement he could in watching someone cower and squirm in his presence. He received so little compensation for his own discomforts these days, _why the bloody well not?_ Only, he desperately wanted the woman to administer the tonic and leave him in peace tonight; his mind was too absorbed to be bothered.

"I can do it," he replied simply, to which the Mediwitch easily succumbed to his wishes. She quietly laid the phial down on his nightstand and scurried out of the room, never looking back as she left.

_Granger wouldn't approve_, he found himself quipping. _For Merlin's sake, Severus, stop thinking about her!_

Severus peered over at the phial for some time. Thinking of the relentless nagging he would surely receive at the hands of his Healer should he not obey her orders, Severus put the matter to rest. Grumbling and inching onto his elbows to retrieve the phial, he swallowed the one-ounce Dreamless Sleep and rolled onto his back in defeat.

Within a minute, his eyes fluttered shut and his breathing leveled out. Anyone who entered would find the wizard fast asleep and dozing peacefully, and it was just such a person who entered his hospital room unexpectedly an hour or so later, taking a seat in the sofa chair next to his bed and watching over him as he slept.

* * *

Severus didn't want to open his eyes. The sheets wrapped around him were heavenly, warmed from all of his contained body heat. It was nightfall, he knew, even with his eyes still closed and in a half-conscious state.

Feeling the need to stretch his limbs, Severus unfurled himself before recoiling into his former, comfortable fetal position. He could sense the lingering effects of the Dreamless Sleep running through his system and yawned heavily against his pillow. What he wouldn't give to sleep like this every night for the rest of his life...

_For the rest of my wretched exist—_

Light shuffling nearby brought an end to Severus's dozing. His eyes shot open, at first unable to make out his surroundings amongst the shadows. Then the outline of a figure entered his peripheral vision, though he couldn't unscramble a face, only a mop of long hair, wild and unruly and pulled back into some sort of a ponytail.

_What the..._

"_Granger?_" he groggily called out.

The young witch let out a soft yelp but, through whatever bravery of her own, dared to come closer. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, her silhouette came into focus. First, those slightly gaping, pink lips and illuminating eyes as round as saucers. She was hovering over him, her hand lightly brushing his shoulder before she took the liberty of pulling the hefty blankets up around his head.

"I'm sorry, Snape," she whispered lowly. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep..."

"But..."

"Go back to sleep," she repeated, her insistence reinforcing, yet calming.

"You're here?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"I... Thank you..."

Severus was confused as hell, yet contented at the same time knowing she was present, and the Dreamless Sleep was undoubtedly strong. Thus, he submitted to defeat with ease and closed his eyes again, uncertain if it was the smell of the witch's familiar scent, the consolation of her presence, or the fact that he was still bloody tired that lulled him back to sleep that night. He would demand an answer in the morning for her being there, however. As much as he was grateful to have her there—immensely so, in fact—he would still get to the bottom of this...attraction, or whatever the hell it was.

_Yes... In the morning..._

* * *

**A/N #2: :) **_  
_


	8. Sentimental Recovery

**A/N: Yet _more_ internal wrestling in this chapter. However, I hope you'll like what ultimately develops in the later half... :)**

**Alas, no Lucius or other plot developments until next time. This one's all about le feels. _Thank you again for your reviews, favs, and alerts! _They really keep me going and mean so much to me. And hello to some new readers who've discovered this little piece! **

**__****Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny!  
**

**********Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and ****own none of her associated characters.**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Sentimental Recovery  
**

_**"I asked my Greek chorus about this sort of hero: the Underappreciated Personification of Resolve."**_  
**-Brad Herzog**

* * *

"Professor? Professor? I must say, _this_ is a first. Usually your reflexes are as quick as a cat. Wake up, Snape."

"Wha..." Snape grumbled incoherently. Who the bloody hell was shaking him awake? It didn't matter; whoever they were, they could bugger off. "Go away," he moaned, burrowing his head deeper into his pillow.

Light giggling, close enough to flutter strands of hair draped over his eyes, pried the wizard awake. "My apologies, but I can't. I have a few tests to run on you this morning, and there's a hot breakfast here and tonics with your name on them."

_Oh, for the love of..._

Severus feebly growled, rolled onto his back, and cracked open an eye, met by the sight of a well-remembered—comforting—face. The assemblage of tumbling chestnut curls and set of brown eyes were calming to take in, even as a bit of her hair tickled his cheeks. He wanted to be cross, but, for a split moment, all he could do was stare.

_Too close_, his mind warned, the paranoia of his thoughts soon coming to the forefront; but the breathless sight before him quickly pulled him in. _Merlin, she's...quite beautiful._

Severus couldn't will himself to move, or to ask Hermione to either. He sucked in a sharp breath and didn't so much as make a sound.

"Good morning, Snape?" Hermione scrunched up her nose, eying him over with concern. "Everything all right?"

"It was," he managed after an awkward period of silence, his eyes fastened to hers. _That was uncalled for, Severus._

At the dawning realization that she was in his personal space and, in all likelihood, making him uncomfortable, Hermione blushed and fumbled to step back from his bed. "Oh! I, erm... I'm sorry," she stammered, averting her eyes from his unwavering gaze.

Snape didn't want to be angry. He was bewildered, something he never liked, and that was a sign of weakness to his way of thinking—not knowing or being able to decipher another person's motives—but if he were being entirely truthful with himself, having the witch so near was immensely comforting, too. It was still unfamiliar to him as well, and unfamiliar meant trouble.

Before Hermione could fully turn around, or make herself busy with setting up his tray of potions like usual, Snape unexpectedly shot up in bed and grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her back to the bed in one jerky movement. Hermione gasped, alarmed at being right up against the professor's face. For a moment, she could do nothing but gawk at him, confounded and slightly afraid. He had snatched her as if she were airless, and that piecing stare she found herself on the receiving end of would be enough to make grown men cower, let alone a former student.

Every hair on Hermione's neck stood on end and her breathing quickened. "S - Sir—" she began, before he interrupted her in a slow, steady drone.

"Granger, I want you to level with me."

"Level with you?" Hermione's eyebrows rose high on her forehead, but Snape ignored her visible fright, as well as the pronounced quiver in her voice. "What about?"

"I think you _know_."

"No, Snape, I... I confess, I don't. What is it?"

It was a lie, and Snape wasn't fooled. "Let's start with what you told me the other night."

Hermione's eyes fluttered. "I'm sorry?"

Snape withdrew slightly, the frown on his face almost mirroring dejection or hurt, unless Hermione was somehow gravely mistaken. "Have you forgotten already?" He waited on Hermione to explain herself, but grew easily chagrined by her unknowing response. "That night...after my bath...what you said!" he requested to know through a ruffled snarl.

"I..."

"_Why are you here?_"

"I... I'm treating you, Snape." Her answer sounded remarkably simpleminded now, even to her own ears. She didn't need to suspect that Snape was furious with her reply—_as well he should! It's not the only reason you've taken such an interest, Hermione..._

"That's not what I mean, you silly girl, and you know it! What about last night?"

"L - Last night?"

Snape's scowl deepened. "Do you make it a habit of repeating everything everyone says to you, Granger? Are you incapable of understanding?"

"Of course not!"

"_Well?_"

Hermione found herself slumping onto the man's bed, her thigh discretely touching his, though they were both too worked up to take notice. "I understand you perfectly," she whispered, her voice weak and nervous-sounding.

Severus wasn't mindful of tugging Hermione closer, his firm grip on her wrist never easing. "Explain," he returned in just as quiet a voice.

"Well... About last night... Considering the nightmares you'd been having—"

"I stopped having those when you put me on Dreamless Sleep every night, Granger."

"Yes, I - I know that, but considering the extent of the nightmares you were having, I wanted to ensure that the potion's been actively working, seeing as none of the Mediwitches have checked in on you as regularly as they should. So I..." Hermione swallowed, suspecting the wizard was going to be furious with her or think her insane, one of the two. "I decided to monitor you myself." Before Snape could open his mouth, she pressed urgently, "Just for the night! I'm sorry I didn't tell you beforehand. By the time I returned to the hospital for my overnight shift, the potion had already been administered and taken effect. You were fast asleep when I came in. I... I stayed all night."

Snape searched her flushed face long and hard, and the wait was agonizing to the anxious Hermione seated before him. They were so near to one another that, had she inched any closer, their noses might touch. Finally, Snape blinked, breaking the tension a little, but his fierce eyes remained fixed on her.

"That doesn't excuse your being here all the time, Granger. It doesn't explain any of it. I demand an explanation," he insisted, his own breathing intensifying. "I don't know what you're playing at, or what you're after, but—"

"_After?_" Hermione couldn't help but scowl back, a wounded look of pain surfacing on her face that Snape wasn't prepared for. "Snape, I... I don't want anything from you." She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, as though, to his utter bafflement, she might cry.

Stumped, and feeling slightly ashamed, Snape's eyebrows came together in confusion. "Then _why?_"

"I..."

"It's the research, isn't it?"

Hermione's mouth fell open, aghast. "_What?_"

_Severus, rear your mouth in!_ He knew he was being unreasonable by now, but his fighting conscience wasn't ready to accept the possibility that Hermione Granger was actually helping him out of the goodness of her heart. Surely, there _had_ to be other factors involved.

With his frustration mounting, he lashed out at her, knowing full well that he was more than likely in the wrong. "You just want me to help you with your bloody research! Hoping to make a more favorable impression for the papers now, are we?"

"Wha... I..." Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times and could feel her cheeks starting to burn. "_How dare you!_" she finally snapped. Pulling hard on her wrist, she made several attempts to wiggle herself free of the dark wizard's grasp.

Snape's mouth drew into a parting sneer of triumph. "I see I've hit a nerve." _Quit it, Severus. Stop being an arse before you regret this._

"No, you haven't!" Hermione huffed, her emotions betraying her. "You're just being unreasonable! Unhand me!"

"Not until you explain yourself—"

"I already have!"

"What about what you said to me? About this supposed 'value' you see in me? Care to elaborate?"

A few curls fell into Hermione's eyes as she stared into Snape's cold, hard expression. "You think I have some ulterior motive for helping you?" Her rhetorical question was so soft and bordered on dismay that Severus unexpectedly loosened his grip.

"Of course I do," he returned as quietly as her, his dark eyes flickering with growing uncertainty.

It was a long while before Hermione could speak, and once she found her voice, she replied sadly, "Snape, there's no hidden agenda, I can assure you. I'm not going to pull the rug out from underneath you. My only goal has been to help you get well from the very beginning. I..." She lowered her eyes a fraction or two, her mouth cast into a dispirited frown. "I thought, as your former student, you might know me to be a better person than all of that."

Snape detached his hand from Hermione's wrist completely and it fell onto his lap. His intense gaze, however, remained, though the colorless irises had eased their piercing stare. None of it made any sense. Not her attention, her kindness, nor the wrestling feelings Snape found himself analyzing internally.

"Granger, I'm no fool. If not for the research, then why else would someone like _you_ go to such efforts to help someone like _me?_"

To his surprise, Hermione's expression, too, grew gentler. "Why wouldn't I bother with you?" she challenged, cracking a sliver of a smile for him. "You're no better or worse than any other patient I've treated, Snape."

_That isn't necessarily true, Hermione_, her conscience warned. _Snape's better... Much better... And you know why._

If Snape weren't so baffled by the witch's sincerity, he would have narrowed his eyes and illustrated his usual suspicion and mistrust through a series of hard-hitting words. Instead, his teeth clamped together, his next words forcing their way out of him with difficulty.

"Your reputation, no doubt, has already been tarnished by your mere association with me, Granger. You may have taken the _Prophet_ away from me, but I'm not some daft idiot. I know what people say about me, what they've undoubtedly gossiped about me in my absence, and what they're surely saying about _you_ for helping me."

Hermione's soft countenance didn't falter as he expected it to; it didn't give way to regret, for that matter, but, rather, resolution.

"I'm afraid you're right, Snape. Those things _are_ being said. Perhaps my reputation has, as you've said, been 'tarnished' for helping you, but I made that decision long ago—well before you woke up.

"I don't care what they think of me, Snape. I've had enough experience with the press in the past that it no longer fazes me. Sometimes I get angry, yes, but it's mainly at the untruths they've written about _you_, Snape, not me."

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh and rolled her eyes. "You're simply the _Prophet's_ latest exciting drivel and they're running wild about us both. Once they tire of you, and of me, they'll move on to the next big, juicy gossip and leave us alone."

Snape's pretense of indifference morphed into one of surprise. "You're either very wise, Granger, or very foolish."

Hermione cracked another smile. "I prefer to believe the former."

"Most would, but most _are_ fools in the end."

"Maybe, but I don't think I am. If we're leveling with one another, Snape, then I think _you're_ a fool not to trust me at this point. What have I done to you that would warrant your belief that I'm out to get you?"

Snape searched Hermione's face, his expression trying to read. "You and Potter—"

"Please don't use that against me," Hermione interrupted him with feeling. "I certainly wasn't trying to get you into trouble back then, Snape, or make things more difficult for you than they already were. I simply didn't know the pressures you were under or what you were going through. That was all."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Then let me ask you this, Granger: did I not kill your former Headmaster? Punish you and your friends unfairly? Make your lives a miserable hell for six long years?" He paused, the look he bore increasingly disconcerting to Hermione's eyes. "Isn't that enough to condemn me, to use me to your own devices, to help me for your own professional gain?"

Hermione was flummoxed, but her shock was quickly washed away by a returned collectedness that Snape couldn't quite believe. "You know, I just realized something..." she murmured through thoughtful eyes.

Snape arched an eyebrow, waiting. "And what is _that_, Granger?"

Hermione offered him a sympathetic look that gave his cheeks more color. "You expect people to treat you so poorly that you're overly suspicious when you're offered any sort of kindness. I... I don't know how to help you believe me when I say that I _want_ to help you, Snape, but I truly have no interest in using you. I would never! Not everyone's like that. I daresay I understand where your suspicions come from, and they aren't entirely unfounded, but I'm _not_ one of them, Snape, _I promise you._"

Without awareness, Hermione reached out her hand, which slowly slithered its way into Snape's grasp. Her hand was warm and pleasing to the touch and, though he didn't squeeze back, Snape didn't retreat or shy away this time; rather, he stared in awe back at her, lost for words.

"You don't need to be so mistrustful anymore," Hermione whispered gently. "That part of your life is over now, Snape. _You're free._ Free of any obligations to anyone other than yourself, do you understand what I'm telling you? _You're free._"

The enormity of those words sent a chill down Snape's spine. As far as he was concerned, he was hardly 'free.' How could he be free of his past when it continued to haunt his present?

"That isn't so," he grimly replied, fighting back the unexplainable surge of anger ready to override reason.

Hermione's soft smile extended. "That's what I'd like to help you overcome, Snape. You won't get well if you don't believe that you can, and you won't break free of your past if you simply give up and give in."

"I... I haven't given up," he tried to argue, but his attempt to fight back sounded so terribly weak and vulnerable that he wanted to turn away from her, from that hopeful, beckoning light in her eyes.

"You're ready to," came Hermione's quiet resolve.

"I've made no such—"

"Your behavior these past weeks says so much, Snape. Until recently, you hardly slept, ate, or moved. You've been clinically depressed, and that's all right. Who wouldn't be, considering what you've gone through? It's hard to see a light at the end of the tunnel when you've gone through Hell and back, only to return and find the rest of the world has changed.

"We're all dealing with our own demons, Snape. Sometimes it's easier to succumb to them rather than to fight, and most of the time we need to a little extra help to dig ourselves out, but it's possible. You _can't_ give up."

"Is that why you're helping me?" Snape couldn't help but snort mirthlessly. "Because you've been afraid I might try to off myself?"

"No, I think you're far too shrewd for any of that." She shot him a sharp look. "Seeing as up until recently you did nothing but sleep or stare at the walls, however, I wouldn't say your handling of things was very effective, was it? I'm glad to see at least_ my_ efforts have drawn you out of your funk, starting with a brighter room, Dreamless Sleep to combat your nightmares, and books to engage your thinking. Those haven't been entirely wasteful tactics; or have I been somehow mistaken?"

Hermione suspected she should probably pull away from Snape and put some proper distance between patient and Healer, but her heart and body were frozen in place with her hand still linked through his; she hadn't let go and neither had he, even as his dark eyes searched her face with a returning frustration.

"You've been wasting your time, Granger," he rattled her by saying.

Hermione inadvertently squeezed his hand. "No, I haven't! I want to help you, Snape, to get to know you, to better understand you."

"But - But _why?_" he stammered, her brow flexed in befuddlement.

"Snape, I've told you—"

"It isn't good enough!" he snarled and, at long last, he shied away from her touch. He crossed his arms over his chest and heaved back against his pillows, throwing her an agitated glare she recognized from her former school days.

Hermione didn't move from her spot next to him, however, and, slowly, a deeply unsettling awareness washed over her. "You think yourself not worth saving... Not worth helping..."

Snape, who had adamantly looked away, turned his head to meet her eyes once more, and the rejection she discovered seeping through those black irises was so powerful that she thought her heart would shatter. That disguise of indifference, of not being affected by so many years of loneliness and isolation, was suddenly washed away, and Hermione saw for herself how much the man deeply cared and wanted to connect with someone.

_To have hope again..._

Hermione reached out to press his hand, desperate to reach him, though she detected his slight resistance to her touch. "I simply _can't_ believe that you deserve anything less than happiness, Snape, and _I won't_. I'll continue to push you to get you to see reason. I have no intention of giving up on you, even if you've already given up on yourself."

"How touching," he scoffed through a low hiss, but Hermione knew that ploy—an attempt to shield himself emotionally—and she wasn't going to bite.

"Well, I mean it, whether you find it 'touching' or an annoyance."

Snape's eyes flickered. Judging by the young witch's determined expression, he could see that Hermione wasn't about to budge, and he was in no mood to play such games. He collapsed his shoulders in defeat. His limp hair fell forward, drooping around his pallid face like shades to shut her out. It was the most susceptible display Hermione had ever glimpsed of the man's insecurities and it made her chest constrict.

Realizing she had been sitting close to Snape for some time, Hermione reluctantly willed her legs to rise from his bed, her hand slowly slipping out of his. She didn't leave, however. Instead, she stared down at him, waiting for the wizard to return her gaze, to perhaps resume their argument or at least tell her to "sod off"; but when it became painfully apparent that she wasn't going to be acknowledged again, that Snape was determined to keep her at an arm's length, Hermione did the only thing she could think of, the lioness within growing bolder in the wake of the wizard's mounting despair.

Hermione reached out and brushed several loose strands of Snape's hair away from his face, as she had done so countless times when the man was comatose and unable to feel her touch; or so she thought.

Somewhat surprised when he didn't jerk away or shoot her another hostile glare, Snape reluctantly met her eyes, his withdrawn disposition fading a little at the receiving of such a simple gesture. Hermione offered him another meager smile and curled the straggly strands of hair behind his ear.

"I'll bring more books for you this afternoon, all right?" she murmured, wanting to make him feel better. "My guess is that you've exhausted the one you have. Any particular requests?"

Snape blinked and the hard lines around his mouth diminished. Aware that she wasn't going to press him further, he surprised her by answering back, his voice careworn and quiet, "Perhaps a Muggle fiction novel; a crime thriller, or..."

Hermione's demeanor brightened. "I think I know just the thing."

That kindhearted smile was too sweet to be endured. Snape swiftly looked away, wanting to focus on anything he could but the witch's poised, beautiful face, the contours of her mouth, that selfless consideration for him no one had bestowed on him since...Lily.

Hermione took Snape's emotional resignation as her cue to finish her diagnostic check and leave. It hadn't been a morning either of them anticipated, but the witch concluded that it was progress, and she sensed her words had reached him, as difficult as they may have been for the wizard to swallow.

_Perhaps it's the start of something better_, Hermione reflected hopefully as she left.

The only part of their conversation that unhinged her still was how close Snape had come to touching upon a nerve—nay, a heart string—that Hermione wasn't quite sure she was ready to acknowledge. She swallowed hard as she closed his door, lingering with her back against the frame.

_Luna was right... Merlin... She was right!_

* * *

The week that followed was agonizingly slow, though steady improvements in the wizard's condition were made. The atmosphere between them was still rather awkward, and Hermione knew why. She couldn't be sure if Snape did, too, but the elephant in the room—those growing attachments to one another—were becoming difficult _not _to acknowledge. Hermione did her utmost best to focus on Snape's treatment and continued to bring him books and engage the man in conversation—another feat that in itself had grown marginally easier—but then there were other factors that were proving a nuisance.

Hermione found her heart, for one, fluttered whenever Snape looked at her. A couple times she blushed and had to turn away, certain she had just made a fool of herself. Perhaps it was the intensity of those dark eyes, which had the power to pin her to the floor and make her mouth run dry whenever they locked on her.

A passing mention of remembering her touch whilst he was in a coma nearly sent Hermione into a flittering, stuttering mess. _He remembers!_ she panicked that particular day when she left his room. _He recognized my touch! Is that... Is that good or bad? No, it can't be good. What must he think?_

At least other fortunates were starting to come Hermione's way. In a surprising, though pleasing turn of events, a follow-up owl from Harry several days later informed her to "be sure to read the _Prophet's_ headline the following morning." To Hermione's delight, Rita Skeeter had finally been let go of her notorious post at the newspaper, having been ousted as an unregistered Animagus, and was to be charged and sentenced by Law Enforcement.

_Good riddance!_

Hermione didn't feel the slightest remorse as she strolled to work the following morning with an extra skip in her step. The article that that cow had run weeks ago about Hermione and her 'kiss of life,' which made her out to sound terribly desperate and unprofessional, both by Skeeter and Smethwyck, could now be cast behind her.

There was still Smethwyck to deal with, but Hermione was determined to let him bring about his own ruin. She was too busy anyhow to be distracted by his continued griping. Smethwyck no longer questioned the Healer-in-training's methods, though he found her will and determination "too absurdly noble and naïve to be born." Hermione ignored his harsh remarks as best she could and, instead, focused on the end result: getting her patient well enough to leave St. Mungo's. Having nearly completed her training, Hermione was vaguely aware that the outcome of the wizard's progress could either make or break her professional career.

In a brief but important follow-up meeting with Harry, Hermione also learned of another daunting development. Snape was to receive a visit from Ministry officials, and it didn't sound promising.

"Why, Harry?" she asked, upset at this hiccup in his recovery. "Hasn't he been through enough?"

"I agree with you, Hermione, really, I do!" Harry insisted, adjusting his glasses. "There's just a few issues they want to clear up. Tedious but harmless questions about the war, that's all."

Snape had snorted at the Ministry's decision but didn't oppose the matter when Hermione presented it to him. "They want to ensure who I am, now that I'm awake," he resolved through a determined sneer. "They've been waiting for this for a year and a half."

When a team of high-ranking administrators from the Ministry made an unexpected call upon Snape a week or so later, and without any prior notice, Hermione was unnerved to the quick. Snape was his moody, surly self but still not in the best physical condition, which worried her. She would have liked to stay put whilst Snape was questioned, if only to ensure that the tight-lipped, obnoxious Ministry officials didn't rile her patient up too much, but, unsurprisingly, she wasn't permitted to be present and had to go about her rounds as usual.

By mid-morning, the officials finally took their leave. Judging by their frustrated expressions, however, things evidently hadn't gone so well, which put Hermione on edge when she entered Snape's room. A tension lingered in the air, with Snape lying back against his pillows and wearing an infuriated frown Hermione wasn't sure she should cross. He also looked quite drained and tired as well. She approached his bed cautiously.

"How did it go?" she chanced asking.

Snape returned the witch's gaze without much expression. "Not well," was all he returned, though his voice was alarmingly small.

"It was a different time, Snape," she whispered as encouragingly as she could. "I know it's a sensitive subject. Don't let whatever stuffy opinions they had get to you."

"It doesn't matter." Snape sighed wearily and shook his head. "I just would have preferred to leave it all behind me rather than rehash it, and to strangers, no less."

Hermione nodded. "I understand."

"Do you?"

It wasn't accusatory, merely curious. Hermione offered a soft smile as she took a seat on his bed.

"Yes, I do," she replied simply, finding herself staring at him in silence for a long time after that.

If Hermione was calmed by the quietude hovering between them, she found her heart racing suddenly when Snape's hand found its way into hers. He had never taken her by the hand before; it had always been the other way around. This time, however, Snape made the first move, and he didn't look at all fazed by his own action.

Snape wasn't sure why he felt compelled to touch her that day, or to express what had been on the tip of his tongue for some time, but he allowed it of himself, just as Hermione had so many times before. "Thank you, Granger," he conveyed to her with hushed gratitude, giving her a slight bow of his head.

To someone else, it may have been three mere words, but they were important words Hermione clung to. "Of course," she responded back, her voice feebler than before, though just as gentle. "I'm sure you did very well today, Snape. You faced your past. That's an important step. You should rest now."

Snape kept his hand in Hermione's, even as she made to fix up his tray with her wand. His gaze was intently focused on the witch hovering over him. She was too busy casting various calming charms and putting his treatments together into some sense of order that she wasn't aware of how he thoughtfully studied her all the while—her composure, the gentleness of her warm hand encased in his, the admirable speed and dedication with which she was able to perform her duties.

Snape felt another compulsion over take him; he needed her to halt what she was doing for a moment to look at him—_really_ look at him. He pressed her hand to get her attention before startling Hermione out of Healer mode entirely. A pair of firm hands wrapped themselves around her arms. Hermione lowered her wand to Snape's chest and found herself holding her breath. The vehemence of those ebony-colored eyes, once so cold and nearly lifeless to look upon, had changed. To Hermione's wonderment, they had opened to her, no longer a hardened shell like before but almost...wanting in their expression.

"Miss Granger," she heard him address her formally, his voice rough-sounding from a morning of relentless questioning.

"Y - Yes?" she stammered, hardly able to speak.

Snape took considerable pause to search her face before finally whispering, "Will you..." His words somehow escaped his grasp, though.

Hermione found she didn't need him to communicate what he wanted, however. For the first time, she could wordlessly decipher what he wanted to say by such an open and honest display. He wanted her to stay. He didn't want her to leave, and the manner with which he gripped her was rather anxious—even possessive, though not greedy.

_Vulnerable_, she considered with a frown.

"Of course, Snape, I'll be right here," Hermione insisted in that affable tone he inadvertently gravitated towards without realizing it, and had for a long time. "Go to sleep now. You need to rest."

The intensity in his face relaxed and succumbed to her wishes. His heavy eyelids closed and a hand, which had come to rest in hers, soon drooped in her fold, the elegant, long fingers unfurling like a bud and opening up to her, like himself, at long last.

"Severus," he mumbled before drifting into a deep sleep. "Sev...erus..."

Hermione felt her throat constrict. Her breathing was no longer accelerated, but the heart steadily thumping inside her chest was. The atmosphere surrounding them had shifted in that moment, and a wall had finally come crashing down. Somewhere, somehow, Hermione had found a way into the wizard's realm, a feat she intended to savor.

"Hermione," she returned close to Severus's face, suspecting that, like when he had been in a coma, he could still hear her, even when fast sleep. "Call me Hermione, Severus..."

* * *

A shift was most definitely in the air. Hermione could sense it with every fiber of her being, and she was pretty sure Severus could as well, though they hadn't really discussed the exchange that took place that quiet morning in the wizard's room, where he had reached out to her and held her hand, insisting that she call him Severus.

To the cheerful witch, however, that was all the more reason to smile. He was also making considerable strides with his treatment, though they argued and bickered about some of her methods. There was also an endless supply of books he continued receiving, as well as examining phials from the Potions Department, which were frequent and steady. Although they rarely deliberated over what the witch brought him, Severus accepted every one without scruple and willingly engaged back.

If Hermione dared to believe it, there was an easygoing humor emerging behind those mysterious eyes of his. He hadn't saw fit to tease her for her reading selections so far, nor complain about her persistent visits either, which was all rather encouraging.

"_Catcher in the Rye_," he intoned during one of Hermione's recent afternoon rounds; she had dropped off the book earlier whilst he was sleeping, still warding off the effects from a strong Sleeping Draught.

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she dipped her fingers into his scar ointment and rubbed at the scarred areas on his throat. It had been weeks since he had fought her on _that_ score as well, and she couldn't have been more pleased. Severus merely watched his Healer attentively, as though he were trying to decode her thoughts without the use of Legilimency.

"And?" she asked, awaiting his colorful review, seeing as he had yet to comment on one of her selections. _It's about time_, she mused to herself.

"I wouldn't expect you to possess such a book."

"Oh?" Hermione was keen to play along. "Not a fan of Salinger?"

"On the contrary, I like him very much."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't," she returned with a snicker.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean, Granger?"

"_Hermione_," she corrected him, catching the stretch lines around Severus's narrowed eyes lessen. "And what exactly did _you_ mean about how you wouldn't expect me to have read such a book?"

"Nothing," he scoffed a little too quickly and proceeded to flip through the pages with feigned interest.

"Exactly." Hermione cleansed her hands with her wand when she was through massaging the man's scars. "_Nothing_, Snape."

"_Severus_," he, too, corrected her, and just as quietly.

The two locked eyes on each other, neither moving from their perch on his bed. Unless she was mistaken, Hermione thought she detected a faint smirk once she broke eye contact to take her leave.

* * *

"We did it! I think we actually did it!"

"For Merlin's sake, Granger—"

"_Hermione!_ And don't look as if you're so disturbed, would you?"

"You barge in on me and I don't have the right to react appropriately?"

"Oh, rubbish! It's eleven fifteen. You're _always_ awake at eleven fifteen."

"You know my sleeping schedule?" he challenged, an eyebrow arched high on his brow.

"You're my patient. I _should_ know, shouldn't I? Anyway, enough of your grating. I think we found a solution!"

"Is that so?"

"_Yes!_"

"By mixing the Salamander blood and Abyssinian shrivelfig—"

"With the daisy roots! Yes, yes! As well as the belladonna and, oh! The stewed horn slugs were clever; I thought for sure they would combat with the belladonna, but seeing as we want to shrink Mr. Underhill's rash—"

"Congratulations," Severus interrupted Hermione's robust enthusiasm by returning his attention to the book propped against his drawn up knees, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_—the latest from Hermione's Muggle collection.

Hermione dropped her hands to her sides and examined him, confused. "Aren't you excited, Severus?"

She still had to say the name slowly, almost cautiously, as if she expected him to take offense and renounce her personal address of his first name at any given moment. She certainly prayed that he wouldn't. Something about the severity of the name rolled quite effortlessly off of her tongue, and she enjoyed saying it aloud. She sometimes wondered if Severus took pleasure in saying her name at all, but then would blush, curse herself for her silliness and quickly refocus. She would continue to address him thus, however, as long as he didn't appear to mind.

"Could you show a little more enthusiasm? Merlin and Circe, I think we've found a cure! We've been searching for ages!"

Severus peered up at her curiously. "And I issued you my compliments. What more do you want?"

Hermione placed her hands on her hips and shifted her weight to one side. "Well, it wouldn't kill you to be a little more enthusiastic, Severus! It's all thanks to _you_, after all."

"Seeing as I didn't actually experiment and brew the potion myself, I fail to see how I had much to do with the matter at all, Hermione. You deserve the credit."

Hermione blushed a little. "That isn't true!"

Severus eyed her over the edge of his book, his face inscrutable but with eyes that glistened. "If you insist." He turned away and nonchantantly flipped to the next page.

Hermione rolled her eyes, shook her head through a shrill of laughter and strolled out of the room, unaware of the disquietude that had settled upon Severus's face once she was gone. He immediately tossed the book aside and stared after the door from whence the witch had disappeared. He should be focused on the fact that he would be leaving here soon, but then, why wasn't he as ecstatic as he expected to be? Something else nagged at and ruffled his nerves.

_You'll be leaving soon, Severus_, her conscience morbidly reminded him. _You'll be leaving this hospital, and you'll also be leaving...Hermione. And we both know you aren't as thrilled about leaving her, after all, are you?_

* * *

**A/N #2: Severus has it bad. :) Lucius will finally make an appearance in the next chapter, so answers are coming...**


	9. Regrets and Opportunity

**A/N: Long chappie here! It looks like we should be concluding this story by next week! I've been doing _a lot_ of heavy editing throughout this process (more than I ever gambled on!), so I'm sorry that updates haven't been as frequent as initially promised. **

**Confessions for our two lovebirds are coming, but not in this chapter, I'm afraid. ;) That moment was always meant to happen towards the end and it's never been my intention to give you a play by play of how the rest of their lives****—and relationship****—play out in this piece, so onward we go!  
**

**__****Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny!  
**

**********Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and ****own none of her associated characters.**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Regrets and Opportunity**

_**"Though much is taken, much abides; and though**_  
_**We are not now that strength which in old days**_  
_**Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;**_  
_**One equal temper of heroic hearts,**_  
_**Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will**_  
_**To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."**_  
**-Alfred Tennyson**

* * *

Severus shot Hermione a look of revulsion before handing her back the empty phial in his hand. After trying desperately to suppress his coughing and gaging reflexes, Severus simply _had_ to succumb to a few disgruntled hacks. The liquid left such a vile taste in his mouth that he didn't hesitate in snatching up the glass of water from Hermione's outstretched hand and downing it in one swig.

"Better?" she asked, cheerful as always.

"Miraculously," he snorted, to which Hermione gave him a half-cocked smirk.

"I'm sure you already understand the timing of the effects without me saying so?"

"You're finally learning."

Hermione playfully rolled her eyes, and as she went to step away from his bedside, Severus half extended his hand, then withdrew it to his side. Hermione caught the mild gesture sidelong and turned her gaze back to him curiously.

"Yes, Severus?" She sensed the wizard's internal struggle to say whatever was on his mind before thinking better of it, whatever it was.

Severus sheepishly eyed her for a long moment before surprising her with a soft, though difficult, expression of gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered, gnashing his teeth together; he looked like he wanted to blush and was doing his utmost best not to. "_Hermione_," he added, saying her name faintly but with an undeniable tenderness.

Hermione looked on quietly as Severus propped the empty glass of water on his nightstand and quickly snatched up another book. Damned if the man's awkward displays weren't some of the most endearing antics Hermione had ever seen. She felt her face flushing and quietly turned away.

_You need to bring it up, Hermione. You have to. You can't avoid this anymore._

"You're welcome, Severus." Hermione smiled, but that warmhearted simper no longer reached her eyes. If Severus sensed her emotional pain, he didn't acknowledge it. It had crept up on her so suddenly she had to look away a second time. "I'll check in on you later to see how the draught is working."

"Hermione?" he called after her before she could leave the room. She turned around, but whatever joy was present moments ago on her pretty silhouette had been smothered, blown out like a candle, leaving Severus anxious. He secretly understood and grunted to mask his awareness.

"Next time, some kind of flavoring would be obliging, unless you'd prefer another snake-bitten victim to dry heave."

Hermione's warm smile returned, though it was still a half-hearted effort. "I'll keep that in mind, Severus. Thank you."

Severus watched the witch whisk out of the room, the smile vanishing from her face before she was out of sight. The tension surrounding them was almost toxic in its intensity by now. For the most part, Severus had continued to disguise his growing attachments by maintaining a wall of apathy. He knew he was hurting Hermione in the process, but he also (falsely) believed that, whatever this attraction was between them, it must surely only be a passing whim on her part. She would most certainly grow tired of his mood swings, become frustrated with the facade he wore, and grow irritated with how difficult it was for him to communicate and let her in.

Yes, she would grow tired of him.

And once he finally left St. Mungo's, which was creeping up sooner than either of them anticipated, she would forget all about him; he wasn't worth her bloody time or her indefatigable efforts. After all, what would someone _so young, so bright, so full of life_ want to do with a drab character like _him?_

Severus tucked himself comfortably against his pillows and propped up his knees, splaying his latest read across his thighs. _You can't tell her, Severus_, his mind fought. _Remember what happened before when you came to care for someone? It blew up in your face. She's better off not knowing. You'd only frighten her away. Yes... It's better this way..._

* * *

"Miss Granger. Oh, I do apologize—_Healer_ Granger, I should say."

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy. He's just in there if you'd like to step in and say hello."

Lucius Malfoy cast the young witch a smug-like grin, taking considerable time to remove his leather gloves and glance back and forth between the closed door of Severus's room and Hermione herself. He then elegantly bowed his head and scrutinized her alone, through a pair of icy blue eyes that weren't as piecing as they had once been.

"It that all?" he questioned after an awkward pause, his smile all-knowing.

Hermione had just shut a patient's chart and was about to file it away, thinking the wizard would simply take his leave, but evidently there was more he wished to say or wanted of her. She had been made privy of Mr. Malfoy's upcoming visit, but she hadn't thought anything more than a polite 'hello' would suffice. After all, what was there to say? Aside from their supposed common interest in Severus's wellbeing, there was very little else to discuss.

Hermione shifted uneasily, unsure of what to say. "Sir?" she returned, a befuddled frown forming along her mouth.

Lucius's smile widened. "Well, aren't you going to give me a mouthful for our previous, less-than-respectful encounter—one of many, I should add? I'll have you know that I'm not _entirely_ undeserving of your scorn, Healer Granger."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "Oh! Well, I..."

_That_ was unexpected. The reformed and refined Death Eater in navy blue robes, who had once openly despised Hermione and her lot for their non-magical blood ties, had apparently been awaiting less cordial words of welcome. The last time they had seen one another—briefly—was during the Final Battle, and before then during her terrifying stint in captivity at Malfoy Manor, where she was tortured by the maddening Bellatrix Lestrange, whilst the Malfoys did nothing but watch.

Hermione straightened her shoulders, and, with a weighty sigh, replied softly, "It's in the past, Mr. Malfoy. What's done is done and there's nothing any of us can do to erase what's transpired. I see no point in feuding with you over something that cannot be changed."

Lucius, visibly stricken by the young witch's resolve, solemnly bowed his head. "Wise words, Healer Granger." He cleared his throat. "For what it's worth, though, I believe apologies are in order, from my family to you. We were mixed up in this war in more ways than I care to elaborate. It's of little matter to you, I know, but, for what it's worth, I _am_ sorry, as is my wife, Cissy, and our son, Draco. My son had even less choice in what he was put through then me, so if anyone should take the blame for what happened to you and your friends, the fault is my own."

"Thank you." Hermione knotted her hands together, struck and completely stunned by the Slytherin's apology. "I accept your apology, Mr. Malfoy."

Giving the quiet ward another examination, Lucius abruptly switched topics, something they were both grateful for now that the stifling exchange between them had passed. Lucius twirled the top of his snake cane and inquired curiously, "I trust my friend is recouping well?"

"Yes, he's coming along very nicely. He's made excellent progress these past several weeks. I— Erm, that is to say,_ we _are all quite proud of him."

"I'm sure you are," Lucius returned in a rather hushed tone, his eyes scanning hers in a manner that perplexed Hermione and caused her to blush, though she didn't know why.

She quickly attempted to recover. "He'll be delighted to see you, I'm sure."

Lucius threw back his head and laughed. "I doubt Severus appreciates _anyone's_ company, Healer Granger, but he'll make an exception for me. I have much to share with him."

Hermione smirked and nodded towards the nearest door to the wizard's left. "I wish you luck."

Lucius merely returned her playful smile and walked away. Surveying him as he passed her by, dressed in his finest wizard robes, Hermione couldn't quite believe what her eyes took in. Looking upon the Malfoy patriarch now, it was almost as though his family hadn't come to the very public ruin they had, in fact, experienced after the war. She couldn't quite fathom how the man was able to carry himself with as near pretentious charm as he had once in his prime, but he was certainly doing his best in front of her and everyone else he flew past in her ward.

Something in those striking blue eyes, however, had changed drastically since Hermione last saw him. There were subtle indications below the surface of a man broken down to his bare bones, scraping for whatever ounce of kindness he could find in this new Wizarding world. In many respects, Lucius Malfoy was the walking embodiment of a host of Death Eater families who had been caught up in the tactics of a madman, embracing him more out of fear than loyalty. Not that his actions back then were excusable, as far as Hermione was concerned, but time had taught her to forgive, even if she couldn't necessarily forget.

Hermione watched Lucius make his way over to Severus's room, carrying all of the false bravado of his past crimes and shortcomings; but Hermione's perception was keen. She could very well see that the after effects of war had humbled the man. His eyes carried the burden of his shame, personal ruin, and his family's definitive fall from grace.

_Perhaps he really_ has _changed_, Hermione reflected respectfully before strolling away to continue her rounds._ One can only hope. Severus could use a true friend...  
_

Lucius slowly crept into Severus's hospital room, where he discovered the dark-haired wizard sitting up in bed with a handful of pillows propped behind his back. His entire face was buried behind a hefty book with a thick, worn binding Lucius tried to decipher from across the room. It wasn't a title he was familiar with, however.

"_Crime and Punishment?_" he inquired through squinted eyes. "What the bloody hell is _that_ rubbish you're reading?"

Severus peered over the top of his book, his stark eyes locking on Lucius at the opposite end of the room, whom he had known virtually all his life but somehow lost sight and sense of years ago. Lucius didn't need visible proof to detect the trail of a smile in the Slytherin's reply, even if his aloof expression didn't alter.

"A fine Muggle novel about an impoverished ex-Russian student who kills a pawnbroker for money, then tries to make good of his misdeed and justify his crimes."

Lucius snorted. "Ahhh._ That's_ why I haven't heard of it. Too deep for my tastes."

"Because it's by a Muggle author or because it deals with the complexities of moral dilemmas and mental despair, Lucius?"

Lucius's eyes brightened. "Cheeky as ever, I see, you old prat."

"Hardly," Severus quipped in return. "I can only find opportunities wherever the crumbs are strewn at my feet."

"It's good to see you, too, for that matter."

Severus lowered his reading material to his lap, mentally memorizing the page number before shutting it. His scrutiny was unwavering as he took Lucius in and as his former House mate did likewise, only his expression was far more discernible than Severus's. Lucius was clearly shocked by the sight of Severus's condition. He looked far sicker than the wizard remembered—paler in complexion and frailer in stature—and yet, Severus admittedly appeared to be in better health than he had shown himself in those final days leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Relief soon marred Lucius's face. _Yes, Severus is, indeed, making progress, just as that Granger girl conveyed._

"Hello, Lucius," Severus finally greeted him, his tone frank and serious.

"Hello, my old friend."

Lucius quietly shut the door and strolled over to the man's bedside, uncertain if he should take a seat or continue standing. Severus answered his dilemma with a silent, pointed gesture towards a sofa chair nearby. Lucius slipped into the chair and leaned his snake cane comfortably against his thigh.

"You look well," he offered as a starting point, to which Severus expressed little in response.

"I've been better."

"Healer Granger seems to think you're making progress?"

"Yes, well, she's a Gryffindor. They're unfailingly optimistic creatures." Severus added as an afterthought, "And too opinionated for their own good."

Lucius smirked and finally relaxed a little, sensing the initial tension between them was now gone. "Who would have thought you'd end up in the care of one of the Golden Trio?"

The sarcasm contained in Lucius's commentary found Severus playing along. "For that, I will only say better that it's Granger than either of her half-witted chums. I would have been poisoned and long dead by now with either of those two dunderheads looking after me."

"Ahhh, this is true." Lucius drew one leg over the other and settled in beside Severus's bed. "I hear Weasley has gone into the family business with his brother, and that Potter is now an Auror."

"It that so? At least, the last _Prophet_ I was able to get my ruddy hands on contained such facts."

Lucius's eyebrows rose in confusion. "You aren't permitted to read the newspapers?"

"Not by my Healer, no."

Lucius shot Severus a wicked smile. "Why's that? Is the girl afraid you're going to hang yourself if you read the headlines?"

"Perhaps."

"She's got you under lock and key, my friend."

"That doesn't even scratch the surface." Suddenly thinking better of his choice of words, Severus uttered carefully and in a hushed tone, "That being said, she's taken awfully good care of me, Lucius. _Very_ good, indeed."

"So it would seem..." Lucius's eyes cast themselves upon the bed-ridden wizard more thoughtfully. "How are you feeling?"

"As well as can be expected, though I'm quite useless being confined to this wretched bed."

That comment seemed to put Lucius ill at ease. He knitted his brow and looked his friend over with fresh concern.

"I'm sorry, Severus. I can't imagine how difficult this all must be for you. I should have come to see you sooner. Only I... I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me..."

Severus peered down at the book in his lap and began tracing the title with his long fingers, his mouth cast into a concentrated frown. "I don't remember much of what happened that night, Lucius," he confided softly, "so, of course, seeing as you were there, I hope you've come to fill in the details for me. At least, I'm assuming that's why you're here?"

"Of course I am. And to naturally see _you _as well, Severus."

Severus raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Merlin and Circe, give me a little more bloody credit than that, would you?"

Severus turned away from his guest, however, and resumed stroking the book in front of him, his pallid face vacant and his thoughts unreadable. Lucius knew that blank expression of his all too well. It was an act his friend had perfected as a double-agent but also well before that dangerous part of his life began.

"Lucius," Severus uttered in a more delicate fashion, "I've missed out on an entire year and a half of my life. I woke up in hospital and the war was over, the Dark Lord was defeated, and I was alive, because of you..."

Lucius's eyes widened. "I thought you didn't remember anything from that night?"

"Only fragments. It's coming back...but slowly."

"I can fill in the details, if you'd like, my friend?"

"I would like that very much, yes." Severus finally tossed the Muggle book aside, throwing it on top of a pile of others that were accumulating on his nightstand. None of them were titles Lucius recognized, though. "Go on," he urged of the blond wizard, who leaned forward in his chair.

"Well, after the Dark Lord requested to see you, I knew in my gut that something was wrong. The fact that you weren't with the Dark Lord when he returned from the Shrieking Shack alone, I just... _I knew._ Of course, I was too cowardly to ask him why he wished to see you in the first place, but I sensed something terrible was about to happen.

"When I saw the blood on Nagini's mouth, too, after the Dark Lord's return, my worst fears were confirmed. Yes, Severus, don't look at me like that!" he all but snarled, turning scarlet at Severus's obvious surprise. "We may not have seen eye to eye back then, but I always regarded you as a friend. I know what you did for Draco, how you protected him in my absence, the Unbreakable Vow that you took... _Oh, yes, Severus, I know all about that._ You may think I doubted your intentions, of the person you appeared to be on the outside, but I didn't, and I never said a word to the Dark Lord. Not one bloody word."

Severus bowed his head, offering a rare display of gratitude. "I know, Lucius," he whispered, to which his fellow Slytherin's countenance softened.

"Things were chaotic, Severus. I don't think he realized how out of control a lot of our brothers and sister's were that night. I was able to slip away, as he was so utterly obsessed with waiting on Potter's return. My deranged sister-and-law, the Carrows, Crabbe, all of them were hanging all over him that I was able to step away undetected. We were all supposed to be fighting, after all; so I told Cissy to find Draco, and that I would go looking for you."

Lucius let out a burdensome sigh. "I returned to the Shrieking Shack prepared for the worst... I expected to find you dead. You weren't there, but all of the blood indicated that you'd attempted to crawl away. I understand you Disapparated, and the first place I thought to look for you was the entrance beneath Whomping Willow. You couldn't return to the school, nor to the Death Eaters, or you'd have been ambushed, and the entrance wasn't far from the school, so it seemed a rather logical choice to search."

Lucius raked his fingers through his long hair. "Needless to say, I found you beneath the Whomping Willow. You'd lost consciousness and a great deal of blood by then. I didn't waste much time trying any healing spells on you myself. I daresay that might have saved you some of... Well, some of _this_—these lingering problems—and I'm sorry, Severus, but in the spur of the moment, I wasn't in my sharpest frame of mind, and you know even basic healing incantations have never been my specialty, so I took you to Poppy. I had to convince her to help you, but you know, it could have taken_ a lot_ more persuasion to get her to agree. Somehow, I think she always suspected you, Severus, and that gave her hope, faith, whatever you want to call it..."

"I believe she did," Severus agreed, his response sober and quiet.

"I couldn't stay, of course. I wish I could have, but everything was so disorderly and only growing worse. I _had_ to find Cissy and Draco, so I left you in Poppy's capable hands. Well, from my understanding, your wounds were beyond her skills to heal, so she arranged to have you transferred to St. Mungo's after the Battle was over. She kept you in isolation and stable as long as she could before extra help arrived. You were brought here and, well... Here, you've remained."

Lucius suddenly shifted his legs, eying Severus shamefaced. "I... I wasn't able to come see you. My hands were tied up with the Ministry after the Dark Lord was destroyed. I'm sure you can understand?" The register of his silky-smooth voice rose, seeking some level of forgiveness from the fellow Slytherin.

"Of course." Severus nodded, remaining perfectly still as Lucius's explanations poured out of him, the guilt in his friend's eyes both evident and also secretly touching. Severus hadn't anticipated any of it, least of all Lucius's sincerity, which he could decipher as plain as day.

"I wanted to come see you once they released me, but..."

"Released you?" Severus arched an eyebrow. "So, you _were_ sent to Azkaban? I thought you weaseled your way out of that."

"Cheeky devil," Lucius goaded, giving him a devilish smirk. "Yes, until my trial some three months later, I was thrown in Azkaban. Merlin, what a godawful place... I gave proper testimony; evidence they could use against our fellow brothers and sisters. Well, I care nothing for any of them anymore, so it was of little matter to me. They released me and I was free to return to my family, only I've found that trying to rebuild my life has been more of an uphill battle than I wagered. It's been...difficult," he finished, though his voice had gone quiet before then.

Severus regarded the wizard in silence, whilst Lucius tried to further obscure his shame by staring at the cold, tiled floor. Keeping his focus on Lucius's withdrawn features, Severus replied patiently, "I'm sorry, my friend, for all that you and your family have gone through in my absence." He paused, hoping his words would meet their mark, even if sentimentality wasn't his forte. Lucius slowly met his gaze. "I have no leftover scruples with you to settle. What's passed is passed. He's gone, and you and I must find a way to move forward."

"Yes..."

Severus angled his head. "I have a question about that night; one that still puzzles me."

"Oh?"

Severus nodded and took a deep breath. "Do you know what became of my wand?"

Lucius's face paled a little as he made to shift his eyes away from Severus. "Oh... That..."

Severus raised a puzzled eyebrow. "You know that it was broken? That someone snapped it in half?"

"Erm, no one _intentionally_ broke your wand, Severus." Lucius's eyes drifted back and forth between Severus and his cane, which his hands were now firmly gripping. "It - It was me who broke your wand."

Severus reared back in utter shock. "_You?_"

"As I said, not intentionally, Severus!" Lucius put up a hand, pleading to be heard. "I ran over to you and went to kneel down at your side, not realizing that your wand was laying beside you. In my defense, I was rather distracted by all of the blood you'd lost. I - I'm sorry, Severus. I should have been more careful, I suppose, but these things do happen."

_You 'suppose'?_ Severus wanted to snap but refrained by taking another calculated breath. At least he had finally gotten an answer to that nagging—and very important—question. _No one tried to sabotage you either, Severus_, he additionally reminded himself.

"Well, that's a relief," he muttered, earning a curious look over from Lucius.

"Meaning?"

Severus's mouth morphed into a bitter frown. "I was convinced that someone had seen me dying that night and broke it on purpose. It isn't so hard to believe, you know. Everyone wanted me dead."

Lucius swallowed hard, struck down by those shrill words. "Not _everyone_, my friend," he whispered gently.

"No...and I suppose that _is_ of some comfort to me. You didn't wish me dead." _And neither did Hermione_, he conscience reminded him, causing his chest to tighten.

"How's Draco?" Severus abruptly asked, eager to get off such a morbid topic. "Narcissa?"

"They're well, thank you." Lucius sighed with relief and twirled the top of his cane absentmindedly. "Cissy's adapting to a new life in the country. We bought a small cottage in Devonshire, mainly to get away from it all. It was an adjustment for both of them, but I think they're handling the transition well."

Severus was surprised by that bit of news. "You sold Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes, I did. It was painful, naturally, but it had to be done."

Impressed, Severus pressed him with another question, "And you? How are you getting on?"

Lucius glanced down at the elegantly-carved, metal snake that wove around the top of his cane, studying it as he chose how to best address Severus's concern. "I'm doing my best to make amends for what I've done, for what I've allowed of myself, and for what I've yet to do."

_That_ remark made Severus blink, confused. "And what do you have 'yet to do,' Lucius?"

Lucius's blue eyes locked on Severus's, his jaw set tightly. "To help _you_, of course."

"Don't make me your charity case, Lucius," Severus came back at the man with a low hiss. "I'm _not_ a wizard to be pitied. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, my friend, but with all due respect, I don't think you _should. _All I wish to do is help you in any way you have need of me. Just say the word." Severus may have been confined to a bed, but Lucius understood well how the dangerous wizard could row, and he quickly diverted the matter by raising a curious eyebrow towards the haphazard pile of books stacked high on Severus's night stand. "Merlin and Circe, where on earth did you acquire all of these bloody books?"

Distracted by the question, Severus shrugged. "They aren't mine."

"I've gathered that much. Who's giving you all of these? None of them look like Wizarding material?"

"No, they aren't." Severus's mouth twisted, though he wasn't sure why he felt suddenly tense. "Hermi—Healer Granger has been bringing me books to occupy my time."

"Granger?" Lucius's eyes flickered unnaturally. "Well, that _is_ something..."

"There's nothing to it," Severus insisted. Why did he feel the need to defend himself? No, something in the manner with which Lucius was studying him now was entirely unfounded and inappropriate...

"You look better than I expected, Severus. The Granger girl—I beg your pardon—_Hermione_, as you started to call her before, does seem to be taking very good care of you."

"I didn't call her that!" he tried to insist and narrowed his eyes, against his better judgment. "Are you insinuating something, Lucius?"

"No, merely observing. You're in the best of care, why shouldn't I compliment the girl for taking exceedingly good care of my friend?"

Severus shifted awkwardly and grunted. "First of all, she's no longer a 'girl,' Lucius; she's a grown woman. That's disrespectful."

"My apologies," Lucius returned with a rather wry smile that Severus didn't care for.

"And secondly, yes," Severus paused, his words catching and growing faint, "she _has_ taken exceptionally good care of me. I owe her a great deal of thanks for where I am now in my recovery."

"That's fantastic, Severus."

"Indeed, it is."

"Then what's troubling you?"

Unnerved and caught off his guard, Severus's shoulders tensed. "Pardon?"

"Don't be secretive with me, Severus. Please, we should be past all of that now. You seem distracted or bothered by...something. Is it the Granger girl—erm, Healer Granger?"

"No! Why should I be bothered by _her?_"

"No matter. Only..."

"Lucius," Severus snarled, his patience perceivably wearing thin, "_get to the bloody point._"

"Very well." Lucius's lips curled into a catlike grin that all but sent Severus recoiling. "You seem very...protective of her is all. Perhaps I'm mistaken, but when you spoke of her just now, brief as it might have been, you sounded quite guarding of the young witch."

"Because you unknowingly insulted her, Lucius, nothing more," he replied tersely.

"Have you formed an attachment?"

"_What?_"

Ignoring the rising anger in Severus's low drawl, Lucius's smile extended, his demeanor finally completely relaxed in his friend's presence, much like old times. "I think my old friend has developed a_ liking_ towards a certain curly-haired Healer-in-training. Am I wrong?"

* * *

The sentiments creeping up on a certain bewitched Healer-in-training were becoming unbearable. Hermione had tried. She _really_ had. She had desperately attempted many a time _not_ to tap into the strong feelings that kept tugging at her heartstrings, that brewed beneath the surface of her consciousness, but ever since Snape—_Severus_—had taken her hand late that one morning—his dark eyes telling her wordlessly that he was grateful for her help and wanted her to stay—Hermione couldn't get the image, nor the feelings that plagued her as a result, out of her mind and heart.

Now, the problem had become what to do with said sentiments and how, if at all, to address them with the snarky wizard in question. Thus far, he hadn't made a move to express anything whatsoever, and a troubled Hermione was beginning to believe it might very well have to be her to breach the terrifying topic of certain deeply-held sentiments.

_You're going to have to address it, Hermione, whether you want to or not_, she reminded herself as she stalked home late one evening, falling snow tickling her face as she bundled her scarf tighter around her neck._ And if he doesn't feel the same, and you've been mistaken all this time that perhaps he shares returned feelings, well..._

What exactly would she do if Severus didn't feel the same? She had no interest in scaring the poor man off, particularly with him being so close to the end of his recovery. Yet, the atmosphere between them had grown so intense that not at least acknowledging the fact that something was brewing between them now seemed rather silly.

How did a witch approach a wizard when it came to confessing matters of the heart? Hermione was no fool, and certainly not inept at expressing her feelings, but...love? She wasn't experienced much in_ that_ department.

_Then again, neither is Severus, Hermione, so what are you afraid of? What do you think _he's_ afraid of, for that matter?_

The answer hit Hermione all at once as she curled up with Crookshanks on her lap: rejection. No wonder they had both been dancing around the issue for so long. Clearly, Severus had no interest in getting his feelings hurt again, and, well, neither did Hermione, seeing as how poorly things had gone with Ron.

Then again, there were other questionable factors involved, too: their considerable age gap for starters (Hermione wasn't sure just how old Severus was), that he was once her professor and she his student for six long years, and how others would undoubtedly respond to the pair of them if they knew how they felt...

_It wouldn't be favorable, _she lamented, perturbed by the idea that she would likely have to explain her feelings heavily to anyone who asked. _ But why should you care, Hermione? What difference does it make what anyone else thinks? Isn't a relationship supposed to be between two people and no one else?_

Several days later, and still feeling no better about the situation, Hermione decided to call on the only person she knew who might be able to make heads or tails out of her deeper affections: Luna._ Merlin, whoever would've thought I'd be asking Luna for love advice?_

Agreeing to meet that weekend in Hogsmeade, the two witches congregated on an early winter Saturday afternoon at Honeydukes, sampling batches of fudge and chocolates before moseying on to The Three Broomsticks for their usual pint. They settled into a corner booth where they wouldn't be disturbed by other students—the chilly weather wasn't enough to entice as many students this weekend—and Hermione wasted little time getting to the heart of the matter. Luckily, Luna wasn't as seemingly distracted as she normally could be, and Hermione couldn't help but sense that the witch already knew why she had called upon her.

"Is it about what I said before?" Luna casually inquired before Hermione could even bring the matter up. "About Snape? It was merely an observation, Hermione. I didn't mean to frighten you, if that's, in fact, what I did."

"Oh, I know that, Luna, thank you." Hermione twirled her mug on the wooden table, watching the golden contents of her Butterbeer swirl within her glass. "I... I think you're the only one I can confide something to who won't give me a dirty look for it."

"Oh?" Luna's eyes brightened with curiosity. "And what's that?"

Hermione suspected the clever Ravenclaw already knew what was coming; there was some all-knowing twinkle in the witch's eyes, though Hermione hardly knew how Luna could know more about Hermione's own sentiments than she did herself. _Then again, you_ have _been avoiding your feelings, Hermione..._

Hermione's stomach was suddenly doing somersaults, and not because of the number of sweets she had scoffed down at Honeydukes. "It - It _is_ about Sev—Snape," she gulped, awaiting Luna's reaction, but the dreamy-eyed blonde merely blinked in response. "I... I think I've been a bit of a hypocrite, Luna. Snape and I got into a row several weeks ago over his treatment, and he started questioning me about my - my _keen_ interest in his welfare. He's quite paranoid already, so his insinuations weren't all that surprising, but I think... Erm, I'm starting to believe... Or rather... _Oh, bugger!_"

Hermione threw up her hands in defeat, took a deep breath, and spit out what she had been withholding from everyone, including herself, for weeks. "I think Snape believes I may have more of an interest in him than just his health, and, well, I... I..."

"You like him, don't you?" Luna finished, leaning forward with her expression still relatively passive.

Hermione inhaled sharply. "Yes," she answered shakily. "I_ do_ like him, Luna. I've come to care for him. A lot." She added hurriedly, "I don't know what to do about it, though. I can't shake it; I can't stop thinking about him. I know it's probably inappropriate but...well...I can't help how I feel. I like him, Luna._ I really, really like him._"

Luna angled her head, her long waves of hair swaying off of one shoulder. "And what do you consider appropriate?" came her returning question, causing Hermione to scrunch up her face, confused.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, what's so inappropriate about your attachment to Snape? Is it his age, his looks, his personality?" She paused, giving Hermione a faraway glint of humor. "He _is_ a bit ghoulish, I'll admit, but what of everything else?"

"I... Um, well..."

"Are you embarrassed?"

Hermione's complexion turned a brighter shade of red. "What? No!"

"Then why are you acting as if you _should_ be ashamed?"

"I'm _not_ ashamed, Luna, I just..."

Hermione shifted about in her seat, staring intently at the unconsumed Butterbeer in front of her. "He's my patient," she finally answered, knowing how ridiculously simple minded that excuse was. When she chanced another glance at Luna, she was surprised by the witch's reaction, which was considerate and nonjudgmental, a half-smile drawn across her mouth.

"He was also our professor at one time."

"I know, I know!" Hermione grumbled. With a discouraged groan, she collapsed her face in her hands and shook her head. "It's not right, Luna, I know it isn't! But I... I can't help it. Damn it all! _You were right!_ I've fallen hard for him; our professor! Oh, Merlin—"

"Our _former_ professor, Hermione," Luna stressed, sounding as though it were no big deal at all. "And he hasn't held that position for quite a long time, so why should that bother you?"

Hermione pulled back her hands from her face to search Luna's, her brown eyes perplexed and in shock. "You don't think my having feelings for Severus Snape—notorious ex-Death Eater, the former Headmaster of Hogwarts and Head of Slytherin House—the slightest bit disconcerting?" Luna Lovegood was enough to cancel out any inquisitions regarding oddity, Hermione knew, enough that she blushed at the absurdity of even asking; she quickly pressed on before her friend could answer. "Forget that," she insisted, keeping her voice low. "He may not be our professor anymore, Luna, but, well..."

"You don't even believe any of that the way you say it, Hermione." Luna extended her sweet, dreamy smile. "It's like you're trying to talk yourself out of your feelings. I daresay he's probably doing the same."

Hermione slumped her shoulders, giving Luna a critical look. "All right, I'll give you that, but what of everything else?"

Luna shrugged. "What else is there?"

_You've got to be kidding_, Hermione wanted to scream but instead gritted her teeth. "Well, for starters, Luna, he's much older than me—"

"So?" Luna challenged, not at all fazed. "You think you'd do better with someone our age? Someone like Ron—"

"Merlin, no!" Hermione didn't hesitate to answer; the mere suggestion was intolerable.

"Or McLaggen, perhaps? He liked you in your sixth year, didn't he?"

"Don't remind me," Hermione shot Luna a look of utter disgust. "I guess, aside from Ron, I've never been attracted to wizards our age, but..._Snape?_"

Luna, however, said nothing, only continued to survey her with a thoughtful smile. Hermione was grateful that Luna was taking the confession so well, and being nothing but encouraging at the very least. At present, she couldn't imagine having this conversation with Harry or Ron or even Ginny, for that matter.

"Is Snape different with you?"

"A little," Hermione admitted with a surfacing soft smile. "I mean, he's still Snape. He can be super unpleasant, moody, have a terribly poor outlook on things, but..."

"Why don't you answer these questions instead, Hermione," Luna suggested, perching both elbows on top of the the table, "such as what is it you _like_ about him?"

Hermione pondered the question for a moment, allowing the atmosphere to filter with other trivial conversations happening all around them. Hermione found herself surprised by how easy it was to answer.

"He's smart," she replied, this time with a much gentler regard. "His intellect is a tad frightening, I'll admit, but... Well, it's not surprising I'd be attracted to someone of such intelligence, is it? He's emotionally challenging and guarded, so there's that air of mystery about him, too—"

"And you _do_ enjoying analyzing," Luna added with a touch of amusement, to which Hermione couldn't help but smirk. Luna could always be counted upon to be unabashedly honest.

"I suppose so. There's something enigmatic about Snape. I... I've always thought so; something dangerously intriguing, and yet, he's really _not_ a bad person. I know that, Luna. I've seen the far more delicate side to him now. I think—or maybe I'm still just that naïve little girl who wants to believe the best of people—but I think, underneath all that forced malevolence, there's a _real person_ there; a man who cares deeply but doesn't know how to show it. He actually has a sense of humor, too, believe it or not, and his smile..." Realizing she was speaking a little too animatedly now, Hermione bit her lower lip. "His smile is very pleasant, you know. Not scary or intimidating when he actually _wants_ to smile at you. It's rather...handsome. Am I crazy?" she blurted out before she could stop herself, somewhat fearful of the Ravenclaw's answer.

_You're actually asking Luna if you're mad? _Hermione couldn't quite fathom that that was, in fact, the case, and yet, it felt entirely appropriate this time. Ginny would have surely told her she was off her rocker, Ron would have been utterly disgusted by the whole idea, and Harry..._ He'd be furious!  
_

A twinge of sadness tugged at Hermione's insides, thinking on how others in her life would likely react if they knew how she felt. But then, there was Luna, who responded so understandingly, and in a manner Hermione had been desperately seeking for some time without realizing it.

Sitting in their small booth and cut off from the rest of the Wizarding world, Hermione knew in the very depths of her heart that her feelings were justified. They were real, as tangible as anything she had ever felt in her life. She suddenly felt a tad dizzy and short of breath.

"You're completely sane, Hermione," Luna answered politely, just as the realization hit Hermione in the chest. "Your attraction is a peculiar one, as some might say, and different, yes, but why should different be wrong?" Luna allowed that rhetorical question to sink in for a moment before asking, "Does Snape return your feelings?"

"I... I think so."

After explaining the exchanges and conversations they had shared in recent weeks, with Luna listening as intently as the witch could without looking distracted, Hermione felt a little more confident about approaching the situation. "Maybe he wants to connect with you but doesn't know how," Luna suggested, twirling strands of hair between her fingers. "He doesn't seem like the type to have had a lot of practice in the department of courting women, does he?"

Hermione choked on the froth of her Butterbeer and wiped the excess from her mouth. "I don't think so, Luna."

"Well, if he's been so guarded most of his life, why would he miraculously change and express his feelings to you?" Luna took a moment to scan the room before her eyes came back to rest on Hermione. "I'm sure, on some level, he wants to tell you but simply can't get past his own insecurities."

"Perhaps..." Hermione sucked in a breath. "So, what do you think I should do?"

Luna didn't hesitate to reply, "Tell him how you feel, of course."

_Rats._ Hermione swallowed nervously. "I was hoping you'd tell me to ride this out and see if Snape says anything."

At this, Luna's face remained vacant. "You could be waiting an awfully long time in that case."

_And she's right again!_ Hermione let out a heavy sigh, appreciative that she had met with Luna to get the witch's opinion, now more than ever. "Thank you, Luna," Hermione issued quietly. "Please don't...you know...tell anyone about this, all right? I... I need to sort through this with Severus first and see where it goes."

"Severus, eh?" Hermione hadn't even realized she had resorted to using his first name, but now that she had, she didn't mind it in the least. It felt right and entirely comfortable rolling off of her tongue. Luna merely smiled at her slip up. "That's nice. It sounds affectionate, the way you say it."

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Does it?"

"Oh, yes." Luna inspected the strands of hair that had somehow roped around each of her fingers before returning her attention to Hermione. "I think you telling him how you feel will go over much better than you think."

_Let's hope so_, Hermione considered quietly. _If it doesn't, we'll both end up hurt by the outcome, one way or another..._

* * *

**A/N #2: Happy Memorial Day to all State-side readers! The moment we've all been waiting for is coming up next. In the meantime... *points to review box and pouts* :)_  
_**


	10. Exceeding Expectations

**A/N: I hope this moment strikes a chord with you lovely readers, as it's been a long time coming and I think I've tormented you _and_ our heroes long enough. Enjoy! :)**

**__****Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny!  
**

**********Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and ****own none of her associated characters.**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Exceeding Expectations**

_**"I come in a world of iron...to make a world of gold."**_  
**-Dale Wasserman**

* * *

Smethwyck found himself begrudgingly impressed by the Healer-in-training's strides with her combative patient, Severus Snape, though he didn't seem to be fighting her efforts much anymore regardless. Under pressure from the rest of the staff, including Augustus Pye, who relayed to Smethwyck several times his disappointment in the chap's handling of Severus's case and ill treatment towards their trainee, Smethwyck reluctantly relayed his regrets to the papers and set things straight—for once.

Although the _Prophet_ continued to hound Hermione and her colleagues for information in the weeks that followed, neither she, nor anyone else at St. Mungo's, including Smethwyck, disclosed further details about Severus Snape's recovery or when he might be released, for that matter—a reality secretly plaguing two individuals in the Dai Llewellyn ward. Although the one was certainly happy to see the wizard in question nearing the end of his treatment, she wasn't looking forward to his departure all the same.

Smethwyck's delicate acknowledgements in the_ Prophet_, along with Rita Skeeter's arrest, ultimately worked to more than just the advantage of Hermione Granger. Not only did she receive more favorable attention from the press, but so did Severus as a result, and Smethwyck finally left the pair of them alone, although his own future at St. Mungo's remained uncertain.

"Maybe he'll finally get the sense to retire!" Gwendle suggested, albeit wearily.

Hermione wasn't convinced on that score, but then, more than one pleasant surprise had come her way since beginning her work with Severus. A deeper regard for the man was at the height of such unexpected eye-openers—an "awakening" of sorts, as she affectionately called it. Although Hermione had played a large portion in Severus's recovery, she had also been the responsible party for bringing the wizard back to life again and, privately, he knew it as much as she did.

It wasn't Severus alone who had benefited from this reawakening, either, but Hermione as well, for it took the young witch a great deal of time to realize just how dull and predictable her life had become...until Severus Snape came along. He, too, had awakened her to something more that had been missing in her life, though neither had admitted what that was yet.

Now it was time to face facts. It was only a matter of introducing the conversation that kept causing both to shy away, even after Hermione's heartening conversation with Luna. Daily exchanges between the two carried on, but the intensifying attraction and tension in the air was beyond stifling at present. How much longer could the discussion be avoided?

_Not long_, both Severus and Hermione concluded, only to themselves and not to each other.

When Severus awoke one morning to discover an enormous stack of old _Daily Prophets_ on his nightstand, it was the official signal both had been secretly dreading: his departure. He was nearly well enough to leave, a bittersweet reality if there ever was one. As he came to, Severus couldn't help but smirk into his pillow at the gift his Healer had left him.

"So, am I permitted to read the papers now that the press is writing of me in a more favorable light?" he baited Hermione when she made an appearance later that morning.

"That's right!" she chimed happily. "Considering your progress, I feel it's safe to allow this sort of reading material back into your hands again."

"I'm _so_ relieved," Severus deadpanned, holding up the latest _Prophet_ with a disinterested look about him.

Hermione crossed her arms and gave him a broader smile. "You should be!"

Severus paused reading, his enigmatic, dark eyes searching hers. "You're pleased then?"

"With your progress? Yes, of course I am."

"You're proud?" he asked in a quieter manner that caused Hermione's smile to waver, though her brown eyes glistened with emotional satisfaction. In true Gryffindor-like fashion, such conviction was unmistakable.

"Yes, of course, Severus... _I'm very proud of you._ And you should be, too."

Severus lowered the _Prophet_ onto his lap. "You should be prouder of yourself, Hermione," he stunned her by saying, his voice still unnervingly quiet. "You've brought me to a point in my treatment that I daresay no one else could have accomplished. You didn't give up on me..." Hermione froze where she stood, shocked by the wizard's gentle expression of gratitude. Severus peered down at the newspaper, however, with an unpleasant sneer and continued before she could reply, "That arrogant sod—that Head Healer of yours, Smethwyck—even had to agree, and publicly so, I might add."

The way the man spoke in Hermione's defense was quite captivating, as well as touching, and Hermione couldn't help but redden. It was such a drastic change from before that Hermione hardly knew how to read his sentiments.

"He's old school and out of practice is all. He doesn't mean to be so combative—"

"Don't make excuses for those who belittle you." The harsh scowl on Severus's pale face deepened. "Including me."

Hermione rattled where she stood. "_You?_ Oh, no, Severus, that - that was a long time ago—"

"Indeed, it was, but it doesn't excuse my poor conduct towards you then, nor the manner with which I've treated you these past several weeks." Severus shifted his eyes shamefully, much to Hermione's surprise.

"In your defense, Severus, I was quite supercilious back then," she countered in a low whisper, offering him a serene, pretty smile he appreciated.

"You were, yes, but I was also your instructor—someone who should have nurtured your intellectual capacity rather than hamper it with my verbal abuse." Severus tried to continue, though he was evidently struggling to verbalize his guilt. His eyelids grew heavy. "There were times I was most unkind to you, Hermione, and for that, I hope you'll allow me to apologize. I... I know it's been a long time coming, but I owe it to you. I owe you a great deal of thanks for what you've done for me..."

Hermione could hardly believe such turn of events. She remained perfectly still at his bedside, allowing the wizard time to get his thoughts out.

"I've been rude to you here, and I no longer wish to bring you any unnecessary grief or frustration. For what I _am_ able to change of my own rotten behavior, I'm sorry for putting you through hell when you've only sought to help me these past several months." Severus's dark eyes slowly met hers, their conveyance pleading for her forgiveness. "You've been exceedingly patient with me, Hermione; far more than I deserve. I'm sorry. And I thank you for your tolerance in putting up with me."

It was a lengthy time before Hermione could utter a word. There was no confusing the sincerity to the wizard's words. They were quiet, strained, and yet, entirely genuine. To her growing awareness, Hermione also realized that she didn't, in fact, need to hear his gratitude much at all. His apology almost felt unnecessary, given where they found themselves now.

_Or where we_ could _be..._

Hermione sighed and carefully approached Severus's bed, silently sliding onto the duvet to stare contemplatively at the older gentleman before her who had changed so much—for the better—since taking her by the hand some weeks ago. Ignoring the obvious tension that still hovered in the air, Hermione gently eased her hand through his and gave it a proper squeeze of acceptance. A smile that stretched to her eyes resurfaced, and the result took Severus's breath away.

"I know why you've acted the way you have, as well as the way you did back then," she submitted with an unfailing kindness and understanding that left Severus stunned. "You know, to your credit, Severus, you were the only professor who didn't coddle us before the war started. You didn't sugarcoat the horrors of what we would find beyond the safety of Hogwarts, and that was ultimately far more helpful and instructive to me—_to all of us_—than what virtually every other adult teacher was relaying to us at the time. They preferred to keep us sheltered and in the dark, to go on treating Harry, Ron, and I as children. Your frank candidness, however blunt it may have been, helped me grow more than I could possibly express. I don't hold a grudge for why you acted as you did, Severus, and neither should you."

Severus found himself eagerly searching Hermione's poised features, once again taken aback by such unwavering acceptance. "Be that as it may, Hermione, I stand by the fact that a lot of my behavior was inexcusable. I cannot take any of it back, nor would I necessarily take all of it back if I could, and_ that's_ one of my greatest faults." Severus's long hair fell forward, half masking his freshly downcast expression. "I'm an intolerant man. I'm bitter, prone to anger, and have treated you poorly."

"Oh, Severus, that isn't all true!" Hermione insisted, rubbing her thumb along the man's protruding knuckles. "We_ all_ have faults. You were under a tremendous amount of pressure back then; something I and others couldn't possibly imagine. I... I'm grateful for what you did for us, Severus. I don't know anyone else who could've withstood all that you endured, and you did everything without question or hesitation because _it was the right thing to do_, because it _had_ to be done... If you snapped because of the strain you were under, I won't hold that against you. I can't. If everything you did for the greater good is considered a fault because of how it was accomplished, than it's a fault worth having, I think.

"As for these past few weeks, well, I'm just as guilty of pushing you extremely hard and pressing you in ways no patient really appreciates. I promise it's only been to help you, but I understand why you've lashed out at times. I know it hasn't been an easy transition, and I want you to know that I understand."

Severus looked on, completely baffled. Acceptance wasn't a gesture he was accustomed, nor comfortable, receiving. The only other individual who had ever shown him any level of tolerance—and even _she_ had maintained scruples of her own—was Lily Evans; but then, not even Lily came _this_ close to accepting him wholeheartedly as Hermione was proving time and time again. The young witch hardly knew him at all, and yet, she was as trusting and forgiving of him as she had shown herself to be with others as far back as her first year at Hogwarts.

Such characteristics reminded him of Hermione's childish naiveté, an innocence normally lost to those who had been through the terrors she had witnessed already, and at such a young age. Then again, Severus could also see something else in those illuminating eyes: Hermione Granger had, indeed, grown up and become not only a capable adult but also a remarkable creature of beauty. Her trust might still be somewhat misplaced in his opinion, but she was certainly a far cry from the bushy-haired, credulous girl he had taught years ago.

No, she was different. She _had_ undoubtedly changed.

"Thank you, Hermione," he grappled to get out. Then an idea came to him, one he had wanted to work up the nerve to ask for some time, if only his stubborn pride hadn't gotten in the way. "Might you..." he started but then abruptly stopped himself.

Hermione drew closer and Severus caught a whiff of her mollifying, lavender-scented perfume. "Yes?" she pressed softly, a soothing smile etched across her mouth. She seemed to be anticipating something, and he was somewhat fearful as to what that might be.

Severus took a calculated breath and willed the words out. "Would you be willing to tell me sometime of all that I've missed out on? Lucius has elaborated on some of it to me already, but it will take a great deal more time for me to become well-acquainted with all that I've missed. I don't trust the_ Prophet_ to get all my facts straight, and, well, I... I would much rather hear it from _you_."

Hermione seemed somewhat surprised—_Or was that disappointment? _Severus wondered nervously—by his request; or, at least, by what he could gather, and he secretly understood what the infatuated witch was waiting on: some sort of confession; a way into discussing what was_ really_ on their minds and in their hearts. She blinked a few times and sucked in a deep breath.

"Oh! Oh. Well, yes, of course." She gave his hand another tender squeeze. "I told you I would if you wanted me to, didn't I?"

It was another long moment of locked gazes before Severus broke the stillness with a hushed reply of his own. "Yes, you did," he answered, most grateful, far more than Hermione probably knew.

"Then it's settled! I can stay after when my rounds are through. There's an awful lot to fill you in on, so it will likely take several evenings to do so. That is, erm, if you don't mind me staying for a while?"

_Would I mind?_ he wanted to snort but held back. _I'd much more mind if you left and never returned..._

Severus nodded compliantly. Having Hermione linger about after work didn't sound at all tiresome to the once reclusive wizard; in fact, he welcomed it gladly. They had exchanged numerous conversations throughout the day as it were that Severus found nothing exasperating about extending their discussions.

_No... Not by a long shot. _"Yes, that would be agreeable." _Perhaps you can work up the bloody nerve to tell her how you feel._

Severus swallowed and peered down at his now crinkled newspaper, not really sure of what else to say, though his hand was still looped through hers. He suddenly heard Hermione whispering his name and looked up, discovering that her face was entirely open to him—even yearning, if he dared to believe it. His breath stalled.

"Yes?" he cautiously asked, waiting eagerly on her response, even if his face didn't betray his underlying longing.

Hermione's nerves were evident as she tried to get out what was on the tip of her tongue, the topic of which they had both been avoiding for far too long. "I... I think... We should probably talk about..._this._" She nodded quietly towards their intertwined hands, sensing the intensive scrutiny Severus, too, was giving their touching flesh. She was grateful and slightly encouraged when he didn't back off or draw his hand away. "I've been wanting to bring it up for some time, but I'm just, erm, not really good at this sort of thing..."

Inhaling another deep breath, Hermione bit her lower lip, an act Severus now understood to translate as anxiety when she was nervous or unsure. It was rather endearing, in all honesty, though he certainly hadn't mentioned it to her—yet. He could feel his own heart racing against his chest, sensing what Hermione was about to unearth that he, himself, had been far too cowardly to address.

"Through the course of working with you these past several months," Hermione began in a delicate whisper, "I... I've come to realize that I care for you a great deal, Severus. I'm not sure _how_ it happened, really. It was all professional in the beginning, I swear it, but this... This holding hands, these strange, intense exchanges between us,—and they've been lovely, don't get me wrong!—have led me to believe that I... I really like you, Severus. _A lot._ In fact..."

Hermione paused, her eyes suddenly lost in staring at Severus's, which returned her stare with the same potency and regard. "I think I'm falling in love with you," she confessed so quietly that Severus had trouble hearing it; or perhaps that was his pounding heart rate interfering.

Severus gawked at her, initially at a loss for words. Had he heard her correctly? Had Hermione Granger actually just said that she was _in love_ with him? Surely, he hadn't heard her right, and yet, those words—so soft and tender—were ringing in his ears, so he couldn't have misunderstood them, could he? He silently studied her long, brown eyelashes and the faint freckles that dotted her nose anew. A few curls cascaded close to her eyes, and he felt a sudden compulsion to reach out and twirl one or two strands around his fingers, to feel their comforting texture.

_What would that be like?_ he pondered before abruptly coming to his senses. _She told you she loved you, Severus! Damn it, answer her, you fool!_

Like the snapping of fingers, he reacted, and defiantly, too, against his once-guarded nature. Severus took in a sharp gulp of air and tentatively extended his free hand out to brush away the curls near Hermione's face, allowing one of his fingers to weave around a thick curl of hers, though the preoccupied witch didn't appear to have noticed. She was too focused on his face, intently analyzing his reaction to her bold confession of love. If he could think straight for one moment, Severus would have acknowledged her declaration straight away, but her scent was overpowering, as were those inviting eyes and alluring lips that seemed to be somehow beckoning him to claim them as his own.

"Severus?" she tentatively asked, her tone feeble and faint. "Should - Should I not have said that?"

Severus didn't respond the way Hermione anticipated, however, nor as the wizard, himself, had planned. He leaned towards her to suddenly covet her lips in earnest, and Hermione's response was equally pleasing and passionate in return. Although shocked at first, she soon pushed back with the slightest force, entirely wrapped up in the warmth and divine feel of the wizard's mouth.

A low moan escaped Severus's throat, his murmur of pleasure enough to drive her mad. Hermione willingly opened her mouth to him, allowing him deeper access, and for their tongues to savor one another's.

Neither Healer nor patient was all that concerned for the moment with getting caught, for their ardent, increasing lip-locking was unlike any kiss either party had ever experienced. It was intense, fierce, and all-consuming. Severus's hands coiled around Hermione's back, bringing the witch possessively closer to his chest, while her dainty fingers weaved around his neck to snatch up a fistful of the man's long, straggly hair within her grasp.

When the sensational contact between them finally broke, each found themselves in a tight embrace with the other, panting excitedly with smoldering stares to match. It happened all so fast that it took them several seconds to comprehend what had just transpired: they had shared a kiss, and it felt amazing, heavenly,_ right..._

"Hermione," Severus rasped, eying her carefully once he had caught his breath, "I... I think... That is to say I feel..." He paused, willing himself time to get the words out she was so desperately waiting on. He knew she deserved to hear his returned sentiments and, this time, Severus was determined not to screw things up, preferably before they had even begun. "I've tried to fight it, but I can't any longer. I... I believe I'm falling for you, too."

Severus quickly shut his eyes, as though waiting for Hermione's reaction to be thrown back in his face, even though _she_ had been the one to declare her feelings first. He could feel himself breaking into a sweat. It wasn't like the wizard to express his true feelings, after all, particularly when it came to matters of the heart. He hadn't even meant to respond by kissing her so and now found himself utterly terrified that she would reject his advances, that she would be appalled at how he had thrown himself at her just now, and, thus, he braced himself for the worst.

"Severus?" he vaguely heard Hermione whisper close to his face. "Severus, please look at me."

Slowly, black eyes opened, met by simmering brown and relieved to find that they, along with her mouth, were smiling at him. He swallowed nervously and ran his fingers along Hermione's lower lip when she tried to speak, silencing her so that he could convey another soft-spoken message.

"I'm no good at this sort of thing either, Hermione," he confessed quietly. "And I don't quite understand what it is you see in me that's been worth your while. I... I'm grateful for it, though, whatever it is that keeps you coming back here, that keeps you coming back to me. I don't deserve you or your kindness, but I _am_ most thankful for it. I... I'm sorry if what I did just now was inappropriate—"

"No, Severus, don't," Hermione returned, finding that her mouth had run dry. "First off, don't say that you're undeserving, because you _are_." A fetching blush crept onto her cheeks and she lightly giggled away her nerves. "Secondly, I... I don't mind what you did just now; not in the least. Not at all, because...I want you."

Severus kept his expression still, though his heart was hammering furiously against his chest again. "_You do?_" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Severus was stunned to hear Hermione chuckle, but it was a relief in many ways as well, dispelling much of his own anxiety. "Yes, Severus! I just told you how I feel about you! Believe it. I _do_ want you." She eyed him sheepishly, her cheeks radiating with even more color. "I... I can only hope you feel the same?"

Hermione could sense the mortifying blush on her face. What a fool she must sound like to him now. _'I want you'?_ her mind scolded. _Merlin, Hermione, couldn't you have said something else? Something more dignified, perhaps?_

"Yes, I do," he shell shocked her by replying, however, his voice slightly unsteady. "I... I suppose I have for some time, but I wasn't sure..."

"If I felt the same?"

Severus gradually nodded his head. "Yes."

Hermione let out the breath she had been holding in. "Oh, what a relief that is to hear, Severus, I can't even tell you! You're so difficult to read most of the time; it's been driving me round the bend trying to figure out if our feelings were mutual. I'm so glad you feel the same! I... I enjoy spending time with you, and I'd hate for that to change."

Severus applied a little pressure to the hand that had come to be safeguarded in his own again, a small dose of reassurance that made his sentiments quite clear. Then his soft expression turned sour. "I'll be leaving here soon," he reminded her with a disappointed frown.

Hermione's mouth slumped, too. "Yes, I know," she replied in a strained whisper, even though she knew she had no right to be dismayed.

After all, she was immensely happy that Severus was on the mend and would likely be released soon. She understood all too well how much the wizard deserved to move forward with his life, free of everyone's reigns to hold him back or tear him down ever again. However, time was suddenly speeding up and threatening to separate them, and all Hermione wanted now was to hold onto what they had just a little while longer. Their passionate kiss and exchanging of affections had certainly solidified what they had both privately been feeling for quite some time, and Hermione wasn't at all ready to part ways yet.

_No, not at all..._

"I hope," Hermione began in a fragile-like voice, "that you and I might continue to get to know each other...after you leave. That is, if you're willing?"

A small smile curled the edges of Severus's mouth. "That would be agreeable, yes."

The tension in Hermione's face vanished at his encouraging remark. She giggled playfully back at him. "Everything's 'agreeable' to you, isn't it?" she teased, surprised at how at ease the atmosphere had grown between them in the last several minutes.

"Very few things are, actually. But _you_..."

The silent, mutual understanding that followed was immensely satisfying. It was a start—the possibility of something more that was nerve-wracking, and yet, equally desirable, made more so by the awakening of shared affections.

Hermione finally shifted on Severus's bed, though she didn't remove her hand from his. "Well, I should let you get some rest, shouldn't I? There are a couple articles in that pile of _Prophets_ worth looking at when you get the chance."

Hermione paused before getting up, however, and startled the wizard before her by suddenly leaning forward to bestow his lips with another heartfelt kiss, an exchange that was less exciting and overpowering than before but, rather, slower and gentler in its intimacy. Either way, Severus was easily swayed by the perfect manner to which her delectable mouth moved with his, sucking and tugging and pulling but deliberately unhurried so that the exchange could be savored by both.

Damned if he didn't want all of this for so bloody long... Judging by the witch's positive reaction once their mouths parted, from her puffy lips to her beaming, brown eyes, Hermione didn't seem to mind kissing him in the least, and he could hardly believe it. He wouldn't allow her to regret this moment either, if it could be helped, by shutting down now. He wanted her, that much was clear, _and you've waited for someone like her to come along long enough, Severus..._

"That was..." Hermione started, her voice somewhat breathless. Slowly, to Severus's contentedness, she shot him a satisfied grin. "I enjoyed that," she ended up giggling softly; it was absolutely captivating to behold, both the sound and sight of Hermione's laughter, that all the wizard could do was admire her for a moment in utter silence.

"Indeed," he concurred, trying to keep his voice steady, "that was..."

"Most agreeable?" Hermione goaded. To her surprise, Severus actually chuckled in a way she would have never imagined him capable. His laughter was rich and deep and sent a pleasant tingle down her spine.

"Yes," he came back at her with a devilish smirk, "_exceedingly_ so..."

* * *

"I see you've finished_ Jude the Obscure?_"

"I have, although I'd read it before."

"Oh? Well, you should've said something, Severus! I could've brought you something else to read instead."

"Something dark, gritty, and emotionally destructive?"

Hermione would have panicked had she not spotted the amused glimmer in Severus's eyes. She returned his smile with a humored smirk of her own.

"I suppose I haven't been a good guesser of reading material for you, have I?"

"Yes and no, with a couple surprises thrown in."

"Shall I bring you something new for tomorrow?"

"That would be fine, thank you."

"Anything in particular? You_ can_ make a request, you know."

Severus stared up at her, his regard much more serene since their heartfelt, albeit cautious, confessions some days before. The exchanges between them could still be intense at times, but they held an entirely different meaning now: a mixture of want and mutual affections.

"Surprise me," he purred in return, and Hermione's mouth stretched into a wider grin.

"Very well then. I shall!"

Severus silently motioned for Hermione to take a seat next to him on his bed; the gesture, as well as Hermione's response, was so casual and self-assured that one wouldn't have believed only days before that there had been any sort of boiling tension between them. "You were saying yesterday," he began in an attempt to jog her memory, "that I was given honors? We never got around to discussing those. What the bloody hell was I given?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh and instead of answering directly, she reached for the pile of _Prophets_ on the wizard's end table. Her evening visits had turned into a lot of question and answer sessions at first, mainly about what Severus had missed out on in the Wizarding world during his absence, but somehow they always managed to end her visits with curious inquiries into one another's private worlds. As those worlds expanded, so did their sentiments.

Quietly, Hermione sorted through the newspapers as Severus intently looked on, unsure as to what the determined witch was searching for. After a minute or two, Hermione's eyes lit up. "Here it is!" she exclaimed, tossing the paper to Severus, who took it into his hands and surveyed the front page, where a stern, moving portrait of himself graced the front cover. It wasn't the photograph that caught Severus's attention, however, but the details of the article that pertained to his Order of Merlin. He read the news in silence, whilst Hermione waited patiently for the information to register.

"They gave me this?" Severus sneered as if he had tasted something foul. Hermione couldn't help but break out laughing at the severe frown her former professor wore in response to his distinguished accolade. "What the devil were they thinking? An Order of Merlin?"

"Why are you so shocked, Severus?"

"Because I think you and I both know how much convincing it would take for the Minister for Magic to bestow such a high honor on my unpopular person."

"The _highest_ honor, actually! And that's a load of rubbish!" Hermione adamantly shook her head. "You're deserving of it, Severus. _More_ than deserving, in fact." Noting how uneasy Severus's expression grew with her compliments, Hermione firmly scooped up his hand in hers. "I know how uncomfortable it must be to have your private efforts played out in front of the press like that, but you _did_ earn the honors you were given. I know they probably do little to ease the pain of what you went through, but I still believe you deserved them all the same." She added with a comical look, "McGonagall and the Hogwarts staff erected a school medal in your honor as well."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "And what on earth would possess them to do_ that?_"

His question sent Hermione into another fit of lighthearted giggles. Her bountiful laughter made his chest expand. The way her head fell back and the lines that stretched at the corners of her eyes were enough to drive him out of his mind. He had noticed those lovely attributes before, naturally, but since expressing their sentiments to each other, such little details had taken on a whole new meaning.

"One of these days, I _will_ convince you that you're a deserving person, Severus Snape, even if I have to damn near hex you to get you to see reason!"

"I wish you luck," he baited, though, inwardly, he was quite reflective on the matter. _I think she already has convinced me..._

"I don't need luck." She shot him a challenging smirk, one that he gracefully matched. "You've taught me well enough that I'm pretty sure I know how to handle a wizard like you."

"You flatter yourself."

"It was meant to be a compliment, actually!"

"Yes, well..." he grumbled under his breath and feigned annoyance by rolling his eyes.

Hermione shook her head again and bent forward to give the jumpy wizard a tender kiss on the cheek. Her wonderful touch sent a prickling warmness throughout Severus's entire body. A burning blush to his cheeks further illustrated his favorable reaction to her caress.

In the mere moments it took to render him speechless, to bend him completely to her will, Hermione ended the kiss and started to pull away. It was then that Severus snatched her by the arms to hold her in place.

"Will you stay a little longer?" he pressed softly, though the underlying urgency laced in his voice was clear as day.

Hermione smiled readily. "I'm through with my rounds. I can stay as long as you'd like."

* * *

Hermione's after-hour visitations didn't go unobserved by the rest of the staff, least of all Smethwyck, who had gone out of his way to avoid Hermione at all costs. The details of hers and Severus Snape's friendship, or whatever it was that seemed to have been developing between them for some time, wasn't some scandalous secret either. She had informed anyone who inquired that she was filling the former professor in on everything he had missed in the past year and a half, but Smethwyck was a deeply skeptical man by nature and wasn't about to take the witch's word at face value. She had spent late evenings at the hospital before, even staying at the wizard's bedside throughout the night one time. If it was just a friendship, then they were becoming_ very_ friendly, indeed.

When Smethwyck decided to confront Hermione before the Healer's station not too long after it happened, and in front of several Mediwitches and Healer Pye in the hopes of proving his point, the result had backfired in his face. "If my spending extra time with my patient to ensure that he's well looked after and that his recovery isn't compromised, considering the fact that many of the staff haven't bothered checking in on him during the night as is protocol, then perhaps you should find a valuable excuse for dismissing me, Sir."

Smethwyck pretty much shut up after that and kept whatever ill opinions to himself. No one had pressured him to return to _The Daily Prophet_ to confess that he had been in the wrong, that the Healer-in-training's motives were, in fact, honorable, or that Severus Snape's strides in recovering under her care had proven quite remarkable in the end, but Smethwyck wasn't a bird-brained idiot. He knew his reputation was trailing a thin line these days, and any attempts to present himself more favorably to the Wizarding world wasn't for lack of trying. Thus, those efforts were painstakingly carried out, even if it meant going back on his word and admitting to the _Prophet_ that he had been in the wrong.

On this particular morning, as Smethwyck watched a curly-haired Hermione return to the Healers' station with an extra skip in her step and her warm smile intact, he was reminded of an enthusiastic young trainee from years ago: himself; only Smethwyck had cut a far more ambitious figure than Hermione Granger ever had.

Today, like most days of late, she appeared happy, content, _and why shouldn't she be?_ Smethwyck grumbled, watching her through beady eyes from a short distance away. Her career had been patched up by her successful efforts with Snape, she had gained newfound respect from her colleagues in the field (even Smethwyck, though he would _never_ admit that openly), and she was _young_—with the air of potential and promise surrounding her like an obnoxiously bright beacon. Her age was enough to pose a threat to his own career, now stagnant and stretched thin since picking up the bottle again.

Hermione exchanged a few words with the elderly Mediwitch behind the desk, handed the woman a patient's chart, and strolled away towards Severus Snape's room, looking ridiculously too cheerful for so early in the morning. As Smethwyck watched her silhouette drift away out of sight, however, he felt that familiar pang of jealousy snatch at his bitter resolve. He could smell her professional glory from so short a span, and it made him physically ill. She was going to be a magnificent Healer, perhaps even take the field to new heights, and the thought was both admirable and repugnant to the old Healer all at the same time.

Smethwyck ground his teeth and heaved several angry breaths through his flared nostrils. Then he shuffled away, gripping a chart that was in his hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his feet dragging along the floor in defeat. He had lost virtually all respect in his position, as well as lost interest in the bloody ins and outs of his job altogether.

The following day, Smethwyck handed in his letter of resignation, quietly leaving Augustus Pye in charge as the new Head Healer of the Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites.

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**A/N #2: Hope you enjoyed it! :) Last chapter will likely be posted sometime over the weekend. The end is near...  
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	11. A Return to Life

**A/N: Well, here it is - the final chapter! After so much editing and a rather long day, I'll admit, I'm half asleep as I post this, so any errors will get taken care of later when I'm not falling asleep at my computer. I wanted to get this up, though, so without further ado!  
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**__****Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny!  
**

**********Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and ****own none of her associated characters.**

* * *

**Chapter 11: A Return to Life**

_**"Each of us has the power—and must develop the will—to be the hero of his own life. We believe in goals, in purposes, in achievement and in the joy of living."**_  
**-Andrew Bernstein**

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**

"You're looking remarkably well, my friend."

Severus casually tossed his book aside, yet another loaner from Hermione, and regarded Lucius seriously. "Thank you," he replied with a slight bow of his head, a few stray hairs falling gracefully into his eyes. "I'm feeling much better."

"That's excellent!"

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Severus's black eyes appeared rather light and unburdened by the severity of life, which had weighed him down for far too long. In fact, to Lucius, his friend's entire demeanor had changed quite drastically since his first visit. The wizard had much more color in his cheeks, as pale as they were, and something heavy that had once lingered in the atmosphere around him had somehow lifted. The ever curious Lucius had suspicions as to what—or _whom_, rather—may be the contributing factor to Severus's lightened mood and was prepared to make inquiries in his own time.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Lucius invited himself into the sofa chair next to Severus's bed and shot him a wry smile. "Do I need a reason to visit?"

"I suppose not."

"You're as cheerful to see me as ever," Lucius half teased, half hissed.

"I _am_ glad to see you."

"You should be." A short pause later, and the blond wizard gave a toss of his long hair. "Everything's arranged."

"Thank you for your help, Lucius. The first couple weeks will be an...adjustment," Severus uttered with some difficulty, and a twinge of embarrassment.

Lucius waved away his reservations. "Severus, you'll be learning to live on your own again. It's understandable, really, and you needn't thank me. It's the least my family and I could do. The house has been swept from top to bottom, and Cissy stocked your kitchen with all manner of foods I couldn't even relay to you, so, if we can be rest assured of _one_ thing, it's that you certainly won't go hungry; not if my wife has anything to say about it."

Severus smirked. "That _is_ reassuring. Please thank her for me."

"There's no reason to, Severus. Draco is eager to pay you a visit, so don't expect me to be able to hold him back for too long. I've relinquished all control over that boy."

"He's hardly a boy anymore, Lucius," Severus offered gently, to which Lucius acknowledged that grave fact with a heavy sigh.

"Yes, I know..." Lucius straightened and quickly changed topics. "So, all of Miss Granger's efforts seemed to have paid off?"

"Indeed, they have..."

There was a strange twinkle in Lucius's blue eyes that made Severus draw back against his pillow. "So... Is she the reason then?"

Severus's dark eyes flashed. "I do not follow."

"Don't be coy with me, my old friend. You denied it last time I was here, but what I see before me is irrefutable. You've changed."

"Of course I've changed," Severus huffed a little too hastily, averting his eyes for the first time since his friend entered his hospital room. "I'm no longer ill, Lucius. Isn't that obvious?"

"Yes, it is, but that isn't the _only_ reason. Come now... Level with me."

Severus tightened his jaw. "There's nothing to 'level' with you about, I'm afraid. Sorry to disappoint you."

Lucius's all-knowing grin extended, however. "That 'kiss of life' the _Prophet_ was talking about must've done the trick..."

Severus's face turned somber, and even a shade whiter. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Lucius." His voice was low and controlled and bordered on anger—a tone Lucius knew well not to cross.

"Suit yourself, but it's no fun keeping it all to yourself."

"What the _Prophet_ said was disgraceful to Miss Granger's professionalism, as well as to her sincere efforts to help me."

"Yes, the article _was_ rather tactless, I'll admit."

"And to add insult to injury," Severus insisted with a curl to his upper lip, "a superior in her department spoke out against her efforts as well. I hardly find the matter as humorous as you do."

Lucius blinked, his smile stretching from ear to ear. "Merlin, you're quite smitten with her, aren't you?"

Severus startled and drew back. "_What?_"

"I've never seen you come so quickly to someone's defense before, not even mine."

Feeling his cheeks starting to burn, Severus cast his eyes away from Lucius again, his trademark scowl returning. "I will come to the defense of anyone who deserves it, Lucius," he answered after a long, drawn out pause.

"Come, my friend, surely you can be forthright with _me_ after all this time?" Lucius tapped his snake cane absentmindedly against the floor, keeping his intense focus on the now troubled-looking wizard. "We could always tell each other things. Well, before..."

Understanding what Lucius wanted to say but couldn't bring himself to finish, Severus nodded, his expression still solemn and pensive. "Yes, I know; but Lucius, this is..." He took in a sharp breath. If he couldn't confide in one of the few friends he still had, he wouldn't be able to ever confide in anyone. _Save for Hermione_, he thought fleeting.

The overbearing weight of being a spy and sworn to secrecy for too long had taken its toll the night he nearly lost his life. Considering the fact that the man paying him a visit now had also been the one responsible for saving his life, Severus attempted to move past the discomfort of opening up to Lucius in a manner he hadn't before, and swallowed his reserves in an effort to speak plainly.

"She's too young for me, Lucius," Severus found himself confessing softly, as difficult as it was to utter aloud. "She's too good, too generous, has too many admirable qualities which I lack. I think it's exceedingly accurate to claim that Hermione Granger deserves better than what I could ever possibly offer her."

"Ahhh, the first name address finally comes out," Lucius returned with his catlike grin. "You sell yourself far too short, Severus. _Far too short, indeed._"

Severus sneered, not believing a word of it. "You know me relatively well, Lucius. You shouldn't say such lies for my benefit."

"Yes, I _do_ know you well, Severus, and I've always known your full potential, far more than you've ever been able to, that's for sure! What's stopping you from allowing yourself some well-deserved happiness?"

Severus didn't answer; or, rather, he couldn't. Like the ever-present melancholy long attached to his life, hanging over him wherever he sought refuge, Severus understood more than anyone how complicated and difficult a person he was to contend with, regardless of the claims Lucius made in his favor. Putting up with his anxieties, mood swings, and general displeasure wasn't, in his opinion, worth the time to a young witch who deserved someone far better, and far less damaged, for that matter, than he.

As though sensing the dark wizard's misgivings, Lucius's face turned contemplative and concerned. "Does she return your affections?" he pressed quietly.

Severus met his guest's gaze, the emotion behind his colorless eyes well concealed. "Yes," he whispered almost painfully; or guiltily, Lucius wasn't sure, "she does..."

"Then what the bloody hell's stopping you? Shouldn't her returned affections be enough to persuade you?"

"I..."

"You won't know what it could be, Severus, if you aren't willing to take a chance."

Severus kept his mouth tightly bound, though Lucius could see the berating thoughts wrestling internally behind the fierce, dark eyes. _He's undoubtedly trying to talk himself out of this_, Lucius reflected with a sad shake of his head.

"Severus, listen, things would never have worked out between Cissy and me if _I_ hadn't pursued _her_. You remember some of the difficulties we encountered, but look how we turned out. I have a wonderful wife—a beautiful witch who understands me completely—with whom I share everything. I'd like to see the same for you. You deserve a good woman in your life, Severus; someone who will love you and respect you as any good and decent chap would want."

"How sentimental you've become in your old age," Severus sniped, though his voice was soft and subdued, which told Lucius that his words were having _some_ desired effect.

"A witch will do that to you," Lucius chimed with a wry smirk, "and, if that is the price a man must pay for falling in love, I'd gladly do it all over again."

Severus ran his fingers through his hair, a burdened scowl outlining his mouth. His features were pinched, his eyes laden with hesitation and inner turmoil Hermione knew not.

"She was my student, Lucius, and I'm a target for the papers."

"I think Miss Granger's proven that she doesn't give a damn what the wretched papers say." He added with playful humor, "Especially if she's willing to put up with _your_ miserable arse."

Severus met his snide quip with a small smirk of his own. "For now," he returned; the comment earned him another furious head shake from Lucius. "And it doesn't change the fact that I was her professor, Lucius."

"_Was_ being the keyword! You aren't any longer, nor is she your student. She's matured into a grown woman who can make up her own bloody mind, Severus, and _she's chosen you_. So, the question remains: what gives?"

"She... She deserves better!" Severus knew he was losing the battle, but it wasn't for lack of trying. "You know that as well as I!"

Lucius sighed wearily, and, for the first time that day, he regarded Severus with sadness. "Would you rather spend the rest of your life alone? Here's a confident, smart young woman—someone who matches you in intelligence and stubbornness, no doubt—and she wants _you_, Severus! What's wrong in that? She isn't naïve or confused, and she's evidently made her affections for you quite clear."

"Even so, Lucius—" Severus growled but was swiftly shot down.

"There's nothing wrong with how you both feel, Severus. Don't hesitate or push her away; you'll spend the rest of your life regretting that decision if you do. I don't want you to go through that pain and torment again... _I really don't._"

As aggravated as Severus was with Lucius's insistent pushing and prodding, he couldn't deny the accuracy in his fellow Slytherin's argument. He had already spent nearly two decades regretting the way things had gone south with Lily that, now that he held even stronger regard for a very different—and far more understanding—witch, could he truly walk away, particularly after denying himself for so damn long?

"She's done a great deal for me, Lucius," he whispered delicately, his hands knotting together in his lap. "More than I ever could've imagined; much more than I deserve..."

Lucius's crystal blue eyes, normally quite cold and distant, warmed at what he could decipher in Severus's guarded words. "You think yourself unworthy, Severus, but you're far from it. Miss Granger sees the potential in you that _I_ see. So, take my advice, would you? Take a bloody chance, have some faith or whatever you want to call it, and be patient with yourself. It'll be an adjustment, naturally, but would I confide in you about my Cissy if I felt any differently about what we have together?"

Severus sneered unpleasantly. "I preferred you better when you were haughty and unsentimental."

Lucius threw back his head and let out a hearty laugh; it brought a returned glimmer of humor to Severus's eyes. "You're one to talk, Severus!" Lucius mused. "I don't know another individual as indifferent as _you_."

"That _is_ true."

"One can only wonder what Miss Granger sees in you."

"Merlin knows," Severus deadpanned with a roll of his eyes.

After allowing a moment of contemplative silence, Lucius smirked and regarded his friend anew. "One day at a time, my friend," he offered soundly; Severus locked eyes on him but remained quiet. "Don't be too hard on yourself, be good to her, and let the cards fall where they may."

Severus grumbled under his breath before uttering a compliant, "I'll try," that earned him another wry smile of triumph—one he was no longer willing to argue against.

_You love her, Severus_, his mind caved in, his heart warming at the very thought of her. _For once in your goddamn life, let that be enough, and contend to love her back._

* * *

Hermione surveyed Severus's room with a personal grief only an affectionate woman could bestow. All morning, she had been willing herself not to appear upset or dismayed at Severus's departure. After all, he was well enough at long last, and would _finally_ be starting the process of rebuilding his life—one that held promise instead of heartache this time, the decisions of which would be left entirely up to him. There was much cause for celebration, even if the Slytherin was too proud to show it.

As she prepared to enter his room, Hermione mentally tried to smooth over the emotions that were lumping at the back of her throat. In the short weeks since first laying a kiss on the wizard's mouth, as well as confessing her feelings, Hermione had watched Severus come around and respond in a manner she had only hoped but hadn't expected. Gradually, the wizard had opened up to her, though there were still plenty of locked doors yet to unlatch, and illustrated his affections in his own disarming, albeit subtle, methods that often left her weak in the knees.

Hermione had yet to inform her friends about her and Severus—_if_ she could call them an 'item' now. _Patience, Hermione_, she reminded herself when she got too in over her head about it. _He has yet to make a fresh start. Let him get settled first, and you as well. One day at a time..._

Hermione swallowed and slowly entered Severus's room, where she found him no longer lying in bed but sitting on the edge with his hands in his lap. The bed had been made, and all the tokens of a Slytherin-occupied space, which Hermione had seen to months before, were gone. The room looked eerily dull and lifeless now that the various greens and handsome furnishings had been discarded, and it made Hermione's smile lessen.

Severus was hunched over and rubbing his hands together, undoubtedly thinking over the drastic changes that lay ahead for him upon leaving this place—one of refuge, as dismal to him as it may have been at times. St. Mungo's hadn't turned him away or shunned him out, but it wasn't the hospital itself that Severus had painfully wrestled with leaving behind. Instead, it was a certain pretty witch who had captured his heart, as much as she nagged him on to get well, and she would no longer be accessible at an arm's length.

"It won't change so much, though, will it?" Hermione had asked on more than one occasion leading up to this moment.

The desperate hope that surfaced in her eyes whenever they spoke of his departure inadvertently tugged at Severus's heartstrings. The visible proof that she would, in fact, miss him astounded him every time, and yet, he was deeply touched—and thankful—that someone actually yearned for his presence. It was certainly new and not what he was accustomed to and, when he witnessed that look from Hermione, Severus would offer a faint smile in return and reassuringly caress the side of her face.

"No, it won't," he would affirm quietly. "You'll be welcome to Spinner's End any time you wish." _All the time, in fact..._

The smile that lit up Hermione's face spoke volumes. "You can expect me quite often, in that case!"

_I hope so._ Severus's couldn't help but worry, however, despite every reassurance she had given him, that the witch wouldn't call upon him, or, worse, that she would forget about him entirely.

That day had finally come—"the first of the rest of your life," Lucius had recently penned to him—and Severus found himself at a crossroads he was apprehensive about, at best. He was exhilarated to get on, and yet, what lay beyond the confinements of this room—_Comforts, Severus. Hermione. That is all. Don't deny it._—left him more than a little ill at ease.

Today, Hermione could detect those anxieties as she entered his room, even without the wizard expressing them openly. It was visible by the knitted brow and concentrated scowl he wore. She took a moment to thoughtfully study him from where she stood.

The dreadful hospital gown was gone, replaced by the handsomely pressed, infamous black cloak, frock coat, and tight cravat he had long worn. (Lucius had taken the liberty of bringing the wizard his clothes from Spinner's End days before.) Taking in the enticing sight of Severus's full return gave Hermione pause, for she hadn't been happier or more excited for him than she was now, seeing him dressed so finely.

Severus casually peered over at her, and the severe lines on his forehead softened at her appearance. Hermione drew closer and quietly sunk onto the bed beside him. Her warm hand grazed over his thigh until his larger hand came to weave itself tightly around hers, holding it in place.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she whispered close to his ear, which earned her a delicate, attractive smirk she was still growing accustomed to.

"I was just thinking..."

"Yes?"

There was a gentle squeeze to her hand. "How greatly you've helped me," he finished in a hushed tone Hermione also wasn't yet used to hearing; but she loved it.

"I was glad to."

"I know." Severus drew her hand up to meet his lips, and his mouth lightly pecked at her knuckles. Hermione swallowed, sensing her heart beating a little faster at such a gentle gesture from the once sour wizard. "I'm most grateful, Hermione. Thank you..."

"Of course," Hermione said and returned his dose of affection by brushing a light kiss along his cheek.

Severus inwardly wrestled with his next question before drawing it out, trying to mask the tension in his speech as best he could. "When should I expect to hear from you?"

Hermione's soft smile widened, her eyelashes fluttering as she stared into his face. "As soon as you'd like, Severus."

The wizard raised an eyebrow, not wishing to come across too anxious. "Tomorrow, perhaps?"

Hermione acknowledged the date with an eager nod, not at all holding back. "Tomorrow then! I get off at five."

Severus's feeble smile dissipated as he glanced around the room, reflecting back to how far he had come, as well as the unknown that awaited him beyond this place. Hermione tenderly pressed his arm, and the encouraging smile she bestowed was enough to muster his will to move.

"Time to go," she additionally pushed, though sadly.

Severus agreed with a nod, a few hairs whisking elegantly across his nose. They both rose from the bed at the same time, Severus's eyes sweeping the room one last time before stepping out into the bustling hallway, where Hermione's arm dropped to her side and her hand slipped out of his. She suspected people probably had an inkling of their growing attachment by now—the funny, almost suggestive grin Gwendle shot in their direction was enough to convince Hermione that their secret would soon be out in the open, if it wasn't already—but all of that could wait.

_All in good time..._

Together, the unconventional pair made the agonizing walk towards the entryway of the hospital, passing by several Healers and Mediwitches, as well as ailing patients, who were running here or there and paying no mind to either of them. It was strange to Severus to not be the subject of everyone's prying eyes, but he was most grateful for the obscurity, particularly at this moment as it left him valuable time to speak to Hermione without the nerve-wracking notion of others watching their every move.

Once they reached one of several Floo Networking stations, they stopped, huddled close together. Hermione drew her eyes upward to meet his that once echoed of nothing but foreboding and animosity towards all, including her. No longer were they dreary and lifeless but, instead, discerning—if only to _her_.

"Thank you again," he whispered, finding himself stammering over his words like a lovesick fool, which he inwardly despised. "I can't...express to you enough...what you've done for me, Hermione."

A familiar hand came to rest upon his cheek, and his breathing calmed to the familiarity of her touch. The inherent gentleness in her eyes brought him a sense of peace, and he was reassured then, gazing into Hermione's eyes, that they would see each other soon. _Very_ soon.

"I'm so proud of you," she surprised him by saying; his eyes flickered curiously. "So very proud, Severus. You're so much stronger than you know, to come back from what you did."

To this, Severus's eyes spoke of a different reality, even as the words came slipping out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Not as strong without you," he confessed, turning bright red afterwards.

Hermione's fetching smile extended. Quickly glancing about as an added precaution, and finding that no one was watching, she leaned in for a proper kiss, only to find his mouth wanting nothing more than to further explore hers. It took every ounce of control to not snatch the witch up and send them both flying through the Floo Network back to the privacy of his home, but, regretfully, Severus parted their lips, catching whiffs of Hermione's excited breaths as he painfully drew back.

"Are you sure you'll be..." Hermione started, but then stopped herself short; instead, she forced a smile. "Never mind."

"Relinquish the reins, Healer Granger," Severus teased, causing her to laugh and playfully smack his arm.

"I just want to make sure you'll be all right is all!"

"I think I can manage." But it was a lie; inwardly, the desperate wizard would have preferred nothing more than to have Hermione by his side...at all times.

The thought of returning to an empty house, which Lucius had unwarded, seeing as Severus presently had no wand, was practically unbearable here and in this moment, and it wasn't only Severus that worried about such a prospect on his first day out of hospital. Hermione inched closer, still smiling up at him.

"I'll send you a Patronus later this morning when I'm on break."

Severus rolled his eyes, trying to keep up the pretense that he would be perfectly fine. "You don't need to 'check up' on me."

Hermione reared back, giving him a skeptical look over. "Would you prefer I didn't nag you then?"

Severus hissed in reply, which sent Hermione into a shrill of laughter. "That's a trick question, and, this early in the game, I intend to tread carefully."

"_You?_" Hermione issued with a mocked, gaping mouth. "Treading lightly? Someone pinch me."

"Cheeky, Granger."

"And I don't like it when you revert to _that_ form of address!" She smacked his arm again, albeit harder, and found that Severus was quite content to play along, which brought a warm smile out of her she couldn't contain. Chancing upping their date from tomorrow to this evening, Hermione asked, "Shall we make a trip to Diagon Alley this evening?"

Severus didn't want to seem too eager, but it was difficult for him not to react. "To get me a new wand?"

"Yes. I figured that would be the first thing on your list of priorities." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Mind if I join you?"

"No," Severus found himself answering with ease, "not at all."

"Good!" There was a pause that seemed to stretch out for an eternity between them—not one that was uncomfortable or awkward but, rather, filled with a stubbornness not to go or move from that very spot. Finally, Hermione's smile wavered, though she continued to regard him thoughtfully. "So... See you soon?"

A muscle in Severus's jaw twitched. It was time to go. "Yes," he strained to answer, though she didn't know it.

Forcing a tenderly rendered smile that would forever be reserved only for her, Severus made to walk into the Floo entrance when Hermione called after him, "And I'll check on you in a bit, shall I?"

Severus shot her a glance over his shoulder, his lips curled at the edges of his mouth, which gave away his satisfaction. "If you must," he muttered, and only Hermione could detect the hint of underlying amusement.

Severus turned around to face her properly from where he stood. Hermione let out a deep breath and, with that, Severus took a handful of Floo powder, uttered his destination and diminished into nothing but green flames. Hermione lingered for a long moment, however, her eyes trailing after the point where the dark wizard had abruptly disappeared. Eventually, she willed her legs to move away back to her ward again but with lingering, affectionate thoughts of him in her mind, and in her heart.

'If you must,' Hermione snorted, knowing how much the wizard really desired her nagging.

With a confident toss of her wild curls, Hermione chuckled to herself and made her way over to the Healers' Station. Both professionally and personally, she had never felt more upbeat, and it showed as she made her rounds to several grumpy, downtrodden patients that morning and afternoon. None of them, however, could compare to the challenge of a case that had walked out of her care earlier that day.

_Not by a long shot!_ she mused with a contented smile.

* * *

**A/N #2: An open-ended ending, yes, but it was always intended to be that way...  
**

**_Thank you so, so much for all of your wonderful reviews, favs, and alerts! _I've truly been wowed by the generally positive responses to this story; it's meant the world to me to hear just how much many of you enjoyed _The Awakening _- so much so, that I'm now quite glad I decided to share it rather than let it continue gathering dust on my computer. It's been a welcoming surprise, to put it mildly. Thank you for making it worth sharing! :) **

**If you enjoyed this piece, feel free to add me to your Author Alerts so you can be notified about future SSHG stories I have brewing (and hope to complete.) Also, I have several completed SSHG stories already available to read, too, should you wish to give more of my work a try. ;)  
**

**_Until next time!  
_**


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